#after he’s been through so much grief and emotional turmoil in one night

[roscolate]

LUIGI AND TOAD’S RELATIONSHIP IS SO PRECIOUS OMG 🥺🥺🥺

BGM - Nighttime Coming - Spirited Away

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3 - 1 / 2 / 3 / ?

Scene inspired by lonely feelings hehehe.

Also fueled by the fact that Luigi and Toad NEVER INTERACTING in the film.

As an artist and fanfic writer, I thought to myself “I can fix that” and resulted into something SO GODDAMN BITTERSWEET OOOUUGHHHH 💔

[willyoubemycherryy]

Hypervision.

Older!Logan Howlett x reader

Warnings: Cursing, sad traumatic backstory flashbacks, angst, cliffhangers, old man Logan, difficult unprocessed emotions, but he balls so fuck it, canon universe alterations

𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆42 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖♡´ ◕ ᴗ ◕ ｡ `♡ : @th3mrskory @smutinlove @inthetub @multifandom-random

sneakpeek ｡ ❄︎ ｡

[1]_She’s both the princess & the popstar.

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To say the last couple years of his life have been rough, would be the understatement of every unfortunate century he’s lived through.

First losing the others, then Charles, and even the new mutants. Everything had spiraled in a torrent from horrible to completely unsalvageable with him being the last one standing. The irony of that still leaves him with a bitter, lonely hurt that only alcohol soothes for him these days. Of course not even that comes without a price. The alcohol, amongst other things would be the death of him if he wasn’t already slowly dying of everything that was finally catching up to him. Old age, grief that haunted him daily, the crushing guilt, the adamantium poisoning, and a lifetime of being reckless…Logan doesn’t think he’s ever felt more out of his mind.

But after another particularly rough patch, he decided to move out to another state entirely alone, somewhere in the city to work as a whatever and use the bustling noise as a distraction from his demons. At current, he needed money. He’d been juggling odd jobs here and there but the pay wasn’t anything to write about so to keep living until he dies, he needs cash. And more pain meds with booze. Which costs money to buy.

For once it’s just his luck when he goes out one night to grab a few drinks and maybe look for a gig when Logan sees an ad for work taped on the table end of a shitty bar. There wasn’t much detail on it, just the name of a guy as well as his number for further info but says it’ll pay well.

Logan grabs the paper and leaves, driving back to his small place so he can call.

Squinting as he dials in the number, briefly wondering if he’ll even get an answer given how late it is but as he sits on one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, to his surprise, he does. From there he gets the rundown of what the job is, when he’ll be interviewed and screened, that a clean background check is a must. No more than misdemeanors, which won’t be a problem since he’s lived his life off the grid for as long as he can remember and so far the man on the line explains simply that the gig is just picking up the same young girl at some high end clubs, events, plus other appearances and dropping her ass back home. Said girl had to be rich because the man on the phone tells him that he doesn’t need his own car because one will be provided by his charge.

However, the one thing that was putting Logan on edge was the mystery of it all. Almost no details about the girl he was supposed to be toting around were given. He’s used to odd jobs so he brushes it off because it can’t be more trouble than everything he’s lived through and with all the turmoil he’s currently going through, owing about 50,000$ to a gang for past debts and running from that too, Logan will take any break he can get.

The rest of his break comes about 2 weeks later when he’s officially hired a few days after arranged interview, passing background check and paid his first check. To him, it’s strange to get paid before doing any actual work, but he was warned at the interview that the girl who’s to be his charge is “unconventional”. Shaking his head from all the possible meaning of that, Logan tries to refocus as he drives to the place pinned on the cars gps where he was to first get you. Arching a salt and pepper brow, Logan makes a sharp turn as he gets closer to the destination, ignoring the anxiousness welling up. He still knew nothing about you and for some reason it put him on edge.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that this would end up being more trouble than it could be worth.

Logan ends up being so lost in thought on the drive by all the secretiveness that by the time he checks the gps, it says he’s already there. The first thing he notices is how shiny everything is, even with his blurry vision the house looked opulent, modern. Multiple stories and big ornate windows. The driveway was also long as hell but whatever. Straightening out his pitch black suit (also provided by his employ) and smoothing his hair, Logan only just then remembers he forgot his glasses when he gets out to stand by the side doors where he was told to open for you. Again, strange.

He doesn’t scowl but he’ll always look unfriendly thanks to life and experience but he hopes it’s not something he’ll get shit about. Yet, less than 5 minutes later, his expression changes completely as confusion and understanding dawn on him as the doors open and his charge comes out. Two men stand by the door as you exit and the secrecy of it all finally makes some fucking sense while making his life harder.

It was you. Shugō. A singer.

The new artist that recently took the world by storm with your music. Despite his reclusive lifestyle, even Logans managed to hear about you but from what he’s heard, as big of a star you are- almost all of your past is shrouded in mystery. Your real name isn’t even known, just your stage name, Shugō. You were elusive and for some reason, that only added to your popularity.

His vision wasn’t what it used to be but as you strode towards him, he was almost grateful for it because seeing you in all your glory could potentially become a problem. Your hair was in an elaborate updo with some of it framing your heart-shaped face, soft shaped eyebrows, and plump lips that spread into a smile as you approached him. The click of your heels and the sway of your mini skirt in a v cut top that flared out at the wrists almost covering what he knew were perfectly painted nails.

He didn’t even know what to say to you but he didn’t even get the chance to before a bubbly giggle broke the silence, making Logan jump to open the door for you. The cool sugar in your was scent all in his face as you pat him on the shoulder, fluttering pretty lashes as you give him a once over, “You look like you’ll be much more fun than the last stiff”, is what you say while you pass him before sliding in. Logan blinks at that, closing the door behind you as he gets back in the driver’s side and wonders how for the quick few seconds your hand was on his shoulder, he could’ve sworn his vision was perfect again. Able to even see the fine glitter on the sides of your eyes.

Mentally, he’s already putting his barriers up. The usual- don’t get close, don’t get involved, it’s for your and his own good. It’s just a job and nothing else so it’s best he keep the distance regardless of who you are, he thinks as the chilled sweet smell of your perfume fills the space.

There’s a ping on the gps to about 45 minutes away where he’s dropping you off. He doesn’t mind the silence but you feel differently as you clear your throat, smiling. Logan glances at you through the mirror before looking back at the road, swallowing. You were young because of course you are. Even smiling, there wasn’t a fold or wrinkle in sight and he was willing to bet you were at least early 20’s but there was no way to confirm because even if he looked it up, nothing personal was known about you. Stifling a sigh, Logan grips the wheel a little tighter. Little things were always trouble, pretty young things were even more trouble which he was too old for but it could explain the still nagging feeling that something was off about this job..

“Hey driver…”

And about you.

Part 2…

[possessiveandobsessive]

The Spirit of Determination

Nyra "Rook" Thorne is somehow responsible for the fate of all of Thedas. If she's going to pull it off, she's going to need a hell of a lot of determination. Lucky for her, she knows a guy and his demon who can help her out with that.

Hello! This is the part I've been the most excited for! I NEEDED a Lucanis POV of the time Rook was trapped in the Fade, so I wrote one! I hope everyone enjoys, it's a long one!

Part 7: In the Company of Spite

Detached. Hollow. Destroyed. These were the only words to describe how Lucanis felt when he woke up after the battle with Ghilan’nain. 

The assassin had opened his eyes and was confused for a moment. He had no memory of how he had come to be unconscious or how exactly he had ended up in the small infirmary bed. Groaning and holding his aching head, Lucanis slowly sat up and searched his mind. Everything he remembered was a blur of noise, adrenaline, and pain. He had been fighting Ghilan’nain with Rook and Davrin, and then… Lucanis thought he might vomit as the fragmented pieces he could recall started rapidly putting themselves back together. Harding had sacrificed herself to free him and Rook. She was gone. The cheerful, red-headed dwarf had been thrown down a pit filled with blight and disappeared to a place only the dead knew. They couldn’t even bring her body home. Harding was just a memory now.

Lucanis’s brow furrowed deeply as the rest of his memory began playing through his mind at top speed. After Harding was killed, he ran to Rook’s side to help her up. Then she had given him the order to kill Ghilan’nain, and he had. He remembered the elation, the rush of finally completing the contract he had been working on for so long, and then-

ROOK IS GONE! Spite’s screech filled Lucanis’s mind, cutting off his train of thought. TAKEN! STOLEN FROM US! LOST! GONE! The demon raged inside him, seeming to grow louder with each syllable. Spite was a creature of emotion, and he was in complete turmoil over Rook’s absence. 

Rook…no she can’t… It was too late for denial though, because now Lucanis remembered the rest of that night. He remembered exactly how he had ended up here. Rook had been taken, most likely dragged into the Fade given the way in which she had vanished. She had screamed; she had screamed his name. Lucanis threw himself onto the ground and shoved his head into an empty bucket that sat near the bed. His stomach churned and emptied its contents violently. The intensity of his fear and grief combined with the likely concussion he had received during the cursed battle was too much for his battered body to handle. Spite’s incredibly loud shouting in his mind was not helping matters either. He sat up slowly, not wanting to further upset his stomach, and wiped a hand across his mouth. Lucanis could feel the tears that had automatically begun to fall at the memory of Rook’s anguish rolling down his cheeks. If he had been in any state to ponder, he would’ve thought much more of the tears themselves. Lucanis had not cried since he was a boy, not even over Caterina’s “death”. He tried to catch his breath and slow his pulse when the demon’s shouting picked up again.

KILL THE DREAD WOLF! KILL THE GODS! KILL THEM ALL! KILL THE ONES WHO HURT HER! The thoughts were thunderous now, Spite’s rage bleeding from every word. WANT HER BACK! GET. HER. BACK!

Lucanis slapped his hands over his ears out of instinct, but the wailing was inside his mind, and he couldn’t escape it. Spite continued to rant and rave, mostly saying the same phrases over and over. The Crow grimaced deeply before shouting out loud into the empty room, “SPITE! Stop! Stop yelling, I cannot think straight!” Taking another deep breath, Lucanis had just started to get up when he heard Spite’s voice in his mind again. This time however, the demon’s volume was significantly lower, and his tone dripped with bitter resentment.

This is YOUR fault. You left the dagger. You got hurt. Rook had to fix your mess. Now she is gone. You are the one to blame Lucanis.

Lucanis’s jaw nearly fell open at Spite’s declaration. He had never heard the demon speak so clearly or with so much control before. The worst part though, was that Lucanis feared that Spite was right. The dagger had slipped from his grasp when he was thrown off of Ghilan’nain. It was his fault that it had remained in her chest. Lucanis did fall unconscious after he was thrown, and he assumed it was either the magic that fueled the blast, or his concussion that prevented Spite from taking over. Finally, he had awoken only in time to do nothing except watch as Rook disappeared. It IS my fault, the man thought miserably, If I had been quicker or smarter about the final blow, this could have been prevented. Rook would still be here. I could finally tell her how important she is to me… 

It was that final thought that broke Lucanis down completely. He had never gotten to tell her. He had never been able to tell her that all of her feelings were reciprocated. Lucanis never got to tell her that he owed her his life and soul, that she had saved him in more ways than one. He never got to hold her close and feel her strong heartbeat against his skin. He had never gotten to kiss her. Lucanis thought about her lips frequently after the incident in his room, and he kicked himself daily for being such a fool and walking away. He had wasted so much time fighting his heart that he had missed his opportunities to love and be loved by the most incredible woman he’d ever met. Now, she was gone, and it seemed impossible that he’d ever see her again, let alone get the chance to apologize and tell her his truth.

“You’re right” Lucanis spoke aloud, addressing his demonic counterpart, “It’s my fault she’s gone, and I’ll suffer for the rest of my life knowing it.” The crow paused for a moment before doing something he’d never imagined he ever would. He addressed Spite again: “I’m sorry Spite. I guess I failed us both.”

A resounding silence followed his words. Lucanis wondered if Spite had gone somewhere in his mind to ignore him, and realized that at one time he would have done anything to achieve that. Now, he just felt strangely alone and empty in the quiet of his mind. Lucanis had very nearly begun to call on Spite when the door to the infirmary opened loudly. Taash stood in the doorway looking exhausted and somewhat irritated. The young Rivani really looked as if they hadn’t slept in days, but still managed to sound firm when they addressed him.

“Good, you’re up. Thought I was gonna have to start screaming in your ear or kicking you or something.” Taash paused, looking Lucanis up and down before meeting his eyes again and continued, “The Corpse Fu- I mean Emmerich said we all needed to talk when you woke up. Apparently he has some information he wants to share with the class.”

“Is it about Rook?” Lucanis asked, probably sounding too childishly hopeful for a grown man and assassin. “Also, how long was I unconscious?”

“You’ve been completely out for the last 3 days. As for what it’s about, I’m not sure…” Taash said slowly, “I know he and Neve have been spending pretty much all their time in the library and Emmerich’s quarters reading dusty-ass, old books. I’m not sure what exactly they’re looking for though.” 

Lucanis was shocked to hear that he had been asleep for the past three days, but just nodded at Taash’s explanation and began to walk towards the door. He was planning on going straight to see Emmerich and getting filled in on the details of the two mages’ plans, but Taash stopped him. 

Wrinkling their nose at Lucanis and giving him a look of distaste, Taash spoke bluntly. “Maybe go clean up first. You smell like shit. Plus, you need to eat something. I’ll go tell Emmerich you’re awake and the team can gather after you’re done.

Lucanis badly wanted to argue and insist that he speak to the necromancer immediately, but he could smell himself now that they had pointed it out and agreed with Taash’s assessment. So instead of arguing, Lucanis simply sighed and hung his head for a brief moment before looking back up. “You are right, Taash. I’ll go clean up and eat and then I’ll join you all in the library.” Taash seemed satisfied enough with this response and nodded at him as they moved aside for him to exit the infirmary.

                         *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Lucanis had never gone this long without hearing from Spite. He had managed to make it back to the pantry, clean himself up, don fresh clothes, and begin making coffee and soup for himself (and for the others later) without a single word or provocation from the demon. Difficult as it was for him to admit or accept, he found himself actually worrying about Spite. Shaking his head in utter disbelief at what he was about to do, Lucanis reached out in his mind for its second occupant.

Spite? Lucanis hesitantly called on the demon internally, Spite… are you there? He could feel a kind of rustling in his mind. It was comparable to the sound of someone emerging from a pile of blankets, and Lucanis imagined Spite rolling out of bed. Ludacris as the thought was (and probably not an indication of anything good for his overall sanity) it brought a small smile to Lucanis’s face. The smile quickly fell when he heard Spite’s raspy response.

What do. You want? Spite’s words were shockingly restrained and quiet. He was completely different now from how he was only an hour or two before now. Lucanis was taken out of his thoughts about Spite’s attitude shift when he heard the demon ask again, What do. You want. Lucanis? 

Perturbed, Lucanis questioned Spite aloud, “What is going on with you? I’m grateful for some silence and peace, but you’ve never let up or been silent like this for so long before. What is happening?” His questions were met with silence for a beat before Spite answered.

We were weak. Spite and Lucanis. You made. Me SOFT. Took my. Nature. From me. What is Spite? Not. Demon. Not like. Before! Spite seemed to grow more agitated with every word. He was almost back to his yelling by the last few. Lucanis just felt more confused than he had before though.

“What do you mean, Spite? I know that you think I was too weak to save Rook, and I agree that I was, but I don’t-” Lucanis was forced to stop abruptly when Spite interjected. Stupid Humans. Spite finally manifested after he said this, and began pacing in front of Lucanis. He continued his rant.

“Humans. Don’t make any. Sense! Want something. Don’t take it. Feel something. Don’t say it. Spite doesn’t. Understand.” The demon halted his pacing and approached Lucanis. His ghostly purple form wavered as he came to stand directly in front of his host. Lucanis could feel something coming from Spite, something akin to… anxiety? Maybe sadness? Definitely frustration as well. He couldn’t dwell on it, because Spite continued, “Now. Spite feels… different. Not like. Demon. Not like. Human. Not. RIGHT! Lucanis. And Rook. Do something. To Spite. Change him. What is Spite? Want Rook. Rook would. Know. Rook. Always. Knows!”

Lucanis was again speechless. Spite was a much more complex being than he had imagined all this time. Or, maybe it hadn’t been all this time. This change could be more recent, after all, Spite had just claimed that Lucanis and Rook were “changing” him. Was that even possible? Could a demon change? He had never heard of such a thing, but before the Ossuary he had never heard of a non-mage becoming possessed either. He had definitely not heard of an abomination maintaining a human form and thought. So maybe there was also more to demons than anyone realized.

“Spite,” Lucanis began, “What do you mean you’re different? How are Rook and I responsible for changing you?” Spite’s face (his own but not quite) twisted into a frustrated snarl before he began pacing again.

Spite does not. Care. Like humans. Spite exists. To Spite. Demon. Has one. Purpose to fulfill. One feeling. Drives. He turned on Lucanis again, pointing at him in an accusatory manner. Now it is different. Spite feels. Like Lucanis. Feels more. Feels… affection. Feels… fear. Feels… joy. Spite does not. Understand. Does not. Know what to. DO!

Lucanis surprised himself when he felt a rush of empathy towards Spite. He too felt lost in uncharted territory. Before the Ossuary, he had been a master assassin. That had been all, nothing more or less. Lucanis had been a weapon for his grandmother to wield as she pleased, and so he never needed to decide anything for himself. He had never needed to listen to what his heart had to say. After meeting Rook and joining the team though, that had all changed. He wasn’t allowed to sulk on his own or isolate himself to wallow in self-pity. Lucanis had a team, a whole team to support him and show him what it was like to feel. He had learned from the others what it felt like to love, to feel joy, to be terrified to lose something, and to be ecstatic when he got it back. Spite hadn’t had any of that support or guidance. He had just been trapped within Lucanis’s jumbled and chaotic mind, forced to accept any changes in character that Lucanis underwent.

“I didn’t realize,” Lucanis began, speaking softly and lowly to the frustrated demon in front of him, “I didn’t think about how my turmoil and changes would affect you, Spite. I’m sorry.” Spite stared at him with a furrowed brow as Lucanis added, “I didn’t know what to do about the new feelings at first either, not until Rook helped me understand.” Guilt curled in the assassin’s stomach as he realized: “I didn’t let you talk to her… I was worried you’d say or do something to hurt her, but you just wanted help finding your place in all of this.” Lucanis met Spite’s gaze then, and they stared at each other for a moment before the demon broke the silence.

“Lucanis and Spite. Same?” Spite questioned, sounding more confused and surprised than frustrated now. “Both new. Neither the same. Change each other? Yes. Lucanis changes Spite. Spite changes Lucanis. Rook helps both. Rook saves both. We. Need. Her. Back!”

Lucanis met Spite’s eyes after the spirit’s last proclamation. “Yes, we do.” he agreed, “We need Rook. So we are going to make a plan, and work together, as one, to save her. Are we in agreement?” Spite stared at the mortal man in front of him, as if sizing him up to see if he had what it took. He must’ve been satisfied, because he then said, “WE will. Save our. Rook. Together. Lucanis can. Tell her his truth. Spite can see her again. Thank her. For helping Lucanis. And for. Making Spite more. More than Spite.”

Man and Spirit approached one another and shook hands. They had a new deal, and neither of them were willing to break it.

            *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   

When Lucanis entered the library after having eaten, the rest of the team was waiting. Everyone was seated in their normal spots, making certain members’ absences all too noticeable. Neve sat alone on the loveseat she had previously always shared with Harding, Bellara’s normal station behind Emmerich’s chair to the left was vacant as well. The part that invoked the largest sense of ominous wrongness was the empty chair on the opposite side of the table from the majority of the Veilguard. 

Rook’s seat being empty broke yet another piece of Lucanis. If he tried hard enough, he could almost picture her there, in enough detail to convince himself she was actually here. Shaggy black hair, snowy skin dusted with freckles, and the green eyes that had him enraptured from the first moment he had laid eyes on her in the Ossuary. Sometimes Rook had the most fierce, determined expression as she discussed strategy and the obstacles ahead of them on a mission. While other times she wore her crooked smirk as she made a wicked comment that had everyone laughing. Her eyes would crinkle at the corners and her smile would become a full blown grin as she watched her team in the temporary moment of levity. 

Miss her, Spite’s voice spoke softly in Lucanis’s mind. He himself agreed, though he wasn’t sure if the comment was an observation of his feelings, or if Spite was stating how he felt. Either way, the statement rang true. It looked like everyone else in the room was having similar thoughts as well. Neve and Emmerich seemed to gaze through Rook’s chair, both mages eyes glazed over from exhaustion, grief, or both. Taash had their head ducked down, with their elbows resting on their knees. White knuckles on their tightly clenched fists were the only real indicator of the distress they felt. Davrin was staring at the wood carving he held in his left hand. It looked recently finished, and when Lucanis got closer to the table, he could see that it was a rook piece. They were all broken and devastated, but they were still here, and they still had a job to do.

Upon finally arriving at the edge of the table, Lucanis cleared his throat to announce his arrival. Emmerich turned to face him before asking, “How are you feeling Lucanis? You were unconscious for quite a while. I was beginning to fear that Neve and I had overdone it on our spell. I do apologize for that by the way, under normal circumstances I’d never put someone to sleep against their will.”

Before Lucanis had a chance to respond, Neve was chiming in. “You gave us all quite a scare there, Mage Killer. I was worried we’d lost you to Spite.” Lucanis ignored Spite’s bristling in the back of his mind at this comment. Don’t like. Cold Mage. Too masked. Can’t see what’s inside.

Rolling his eyes internally at Spite’s muttered comments, Lucanis addressed everyone present. “It is I who should apologize. I,WE, lost control that night. Between the battle itself and losing Rook, neither Spite nor I could control our combined response. I am grateful that you all did what you did. I could never have lived with myself if any of you had been hurt by my own hand.” Realizing that he had turned his gaze down to stare at the floor at some point in his small speech, Lucanis turned his eyes back up to meet Emmerich’s. He was surprised to find the older man smiling at him. “What?” Lucanis questioned, looking around to see everyone giving him odd looks.

“I’m just pleased to see that you and Spite have reached an understanding.” Emmerich said in a kind and cheery tone. “I was getting concerned that you’d be unable to settle the conflicting parts of your natures and…” The necromancer trailed off, seemingly unable to complete the sentence. Neve however, had no such qualms.

“We were concerned you’d awaken as a full blown abomination and we’d have to kill you.” The Tevinter detective was straightforward and blunt, something Lucanis appreciated about her. It was unpleasant being on the receiving end of her rather icy stare though. Suppressing a small shudder, Lucanis simply nodded in understanding before adding, “I would neither expect nor want anything less.” Neve seemed satisfied with this comment and sat back.

Emmerich then addressed the whole group, his expression morphing into a sober one. “As most of you are aware, Neve and I have been researching everything related to human visitation in the Fade. There’s not much material available, but from what we have been able to find combined with what the Inquisitor was able to tell us from her own trip into the Fade, we have come to one undeniable truth.” He paused and scanned the room to make sure everyone was following and then spoke again. “To enter or exit the Fade, conditions specific to the particular area you seek to journey to or leave must be met. It is obviously impossible for us to know exactly what conditions must be met for Rook to leave where she is currently trapped, but one condition that is the same for any part of the Fade across the board. That is that the Veil must be weakened or cut through on the outside for any travel in and out to be possible.”

Lucanis’s brow furrowed, “If we can’t be sure what conditions must be met for Rook to get out, why is any of that good news?” The assassin wanted to pace back and forth as if he was some kind of caged animal. He knew some of that was Spite, but plenty of it was his own impatience and frustration.

Emmerich seemed unbothered by Lucanis’s pointed question and directed his answer to him. “We know we will need to make a small hole in, or seriously weaken the Veil around where we expect her to exit. Rook will be the only one who can complete the condition on her side to escape, so we need to focus on finding the most likely place she would be exiting from, and come up with a way to safely weaken the Veil.”

Neve snorted, “Yeah, we JUST have to do all that.” She shook her head before adding, “I believe it’s possible, but it will take time, most likely weeks at least. We will have to hope that Rook can hang on wherever she is, because even if we don’t eat or sleep, there isn’t enough literature on the topic for this to be a quick discovery.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucanis forced any immediate response back down his throat. He knew they weren’t lying, but the idea that it was going to take so long just to find a potential solution was maddening. The crow looked to Emmerich again, “Is there anything the three of us can do now to assist?” 

Emmerich just shook his head, “Not in terms of finding Rook. I’m sorry, Lucanis.” The older man did seem to feel genuinely empathetic, something Lucanis was not accustomed to but appreciated nonetheless. Emmerich spoke again, this time a smile making its way onto his face and into his words, “Though I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say: your cooking alone is more than enough of a contribution to our efforts.”

Lucanis found a chuckle slipping from his lips without thought at the almost begging tone underlying the words. Without Bellara around, he supposed he was really the only competent cook among them. Emmerich and Taash were alright, but Davrin and Neve’s attempts at making dinner previously had been truly offensive to the palette and contained almost no nutritional value. Given that Emmerich was far too busy to spend time in the kitchen and that Taash really only knew how to make two dishes well, it made sense that the necromancer was slightly desperate, though he had attempted to seem as if he was joking.  

“Yes, I think I can manage that.” Lucanis responded, “In fact there is already soup prepared for dinner tonight.” The way his companions eyes lit up at this was enough to settle the useless feeling in his gut, for now at least. 

“Wonderful!” Emmerich responded enthusiastically. “Now that we’ve filled in Lucanis and-”

“Wait,” Davrin cut in, “Sorry to interrupt Professor, but I talked to Taash earlier about what we could do in the meantime, and both of us agreed that we need to check in on our allies and make sure that they remain prepared for the final assault when it does come. We planned on visiting the Wardens tomorrow, the Lords the following day, the Veiljumpers next, and then the Mourn Watch.” The warden turned to face Lucanis before adding, “We figured you’d want to be the one to check in with the Crows, Lucanis. If you’re willing to wait a few days though, Taash and I would be more than happy to join you.” Davrin grinned slightly, “Assan loves Treviso, and I’ve been wanting to try this coffee you seem so obsessed with.”

Lucanis felt warm at Davrin’s statements. He knew that the warden bringing up Cafe Pietra was just an excuse to join Lucanis when he went back to his home city to check in. He was touched that Davrin seemed to recognize that he would struggle to travel back without Rook at his side. Lucanis hadn’t visited Treviso a single time without her over the last 5 or 6 months since she had saved him and he joined the Veilguard, and Davrin was correct in assuming that the thought of going through the Eluvian without her steady presence was not a happy one. Though, as Lucanis studied Davrin and Taash’s faces, he realized that he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. 

“I’d appreciate the company,” he said after a moment, “If the two of you would like, I wouldn’t mind accompanying you to check in on the others as well. It won’t do me any good to sit around pacing the length of the pantry hundreds of times a day. Plus, I wouldn’t mind the excuse to kill the enemies we will likely face as we travel.” “Killing is good.” Spite added cheerfully using Lucanis’s mouth. “Crush! The bad ones. Rook would. Want us to.” 

Lucanis shook his head as Spite receded. Since Rook had entered his mind and freed them, Spite’s takeovers had been fewer in number and easier on both his body and mind. It seemed it was even smoother now and less aggressive since the two had spoken and reached a new agreement only around half an hour ago. As he returned his attention to the group, he saw that they were all staring at him with widened eyes, but did not seem afraid. Rather, the team seemed amused at Spite’s comments and Lucanis’s eye roll following the declaration. 

“Of course you’re welcome,” Taash said in a gruff tone, “The more blades the better, and it’ll feel more normal with three of us anyway.” “Sorry, four.” they amended at Assan’s indignant screech.

“It’s settled then!” Emmerich clapped his hands together, “I do so love it when we have a solid plan, it seems a rare occurrence these days. Now, I suggest we all go and get some of the dinner that Lucanis has so generously prepared, and get to work!” The necromancer paused, “Well, I supposed ‘get to sleep’ would be more appropriate for everyone aside from Neve and myself. I have a feeling we will be up for hours yet.” 

With that, the meeting of the remaining Veilguard was adjourned.

           *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Three Weeks Later

Lucanis felt like he was losing his fucking mind. Three weeks had come and gone and they seemed no closer to finding Rook than they had the night of their meeting. Scowling, Lucanis threw another knife at the pantry wall. He had been travelling and training with Davrin and Taash to keep busy, but he was running out of patience. Spite was handling it even worse than Lucanis was. He was on edge, constantly restless and shifting in Lucanis’s mind. The spirit’s fuse was practically non-existent at this point, everything pissed him off. This was doing nothing to help Lucanis’s own attitude. He found himself wanting to snap at everyone around him, and his jaw was permanently clenched. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, he thought to himself in a growl, They have to be close to locating her, it’s been so long since they started looking. 

Let me. Talk to them. Spite suddenly interjected into Lucanis’s angry brooding, I might. Be able to. Help. Spite has an idea. To share with the. Strange Wizard. 

Had Lucanis not been filled with so much frustration and angst, he might have found Spite’s name for Emmerich funny. Instead, he simply began walking towards the main Lighthouse to find Emmerich. Once he might have questioned Spite further or hesitated to give him what he wanted, but he knew by now that they wanted the same thing: Rook back.

Lucanis swung open the door to Emmerich’s quarters without knocking and walked right in. The room was in complete disarray, books and tomes strewn about everywhere there was space. Manfred was desperately trying to keep up with cleaning up old teacups and rearranging the stacks on books that seemed to have been tossed to the side. He hissed and chittered in an agitated tone, but when the skeleton noticed Lucanis standing in the entryway, he seemed overjoyed. “Determination! Determination and Lucanis visit!”

Lucanis felt Spite move within him and allowed him to come forward and respond to his fellow spirit. “Curiosity.” Spite greeted Manfred cordially before asking, “Where is. The Wizard? Spite needs to. Talk.” Manfred, seeming even more excited now that Spite had addressed him, simply motioned for Lucanis and Spite to follow him up the stairs. Upon reaching the top, Lucanis was not really surprised by the sight before him. Emmerich was passed out on the floor, still clutching a large book in his hands, and Neve was asleep on her side across the small couch. Her hand hung off of the edge and hovered above an empty coffee cup and another book. The two mages were clearly exhausted beyond belief, and Lucanis felt a small twinge of guilt as Spite spoke again out of his mouth.

“Wizard! Ice Woman!” Spite shouted at the sleeping figures, waiting a moment as they jerked awake and looked around in bewilderment. “Spite has an idea. Can maybe help. Find Rook! Need you to. Wake up!” Neve sat up immediately at this comment, her eyes clearing of sleep and taking on the focused edge that was her default. Emmerich ran his hand down his face and groaned slightly before getting to his feet and addressing Spite in a curious voice. “What do you mean Spite? You think you know how to find Rook?” The last statement was filled with surprised eagerness.

Lucanis felt Spite nod his head and respond, “Felt something. Last night when. Wizard was trying to. Manipulate the Wall.” Spite had always referred to the Veil as “The Wall”, which Lucanis supposed made sense, but had taken him a few times to understand what the spirit meant. Lucanis’s attention was brought back to Emmerich as he heard him intake his breath quickly. “What do- What did you feel? I was indeed trying to sift through the layers of the Veil last night to see if it would be possible to weaken a single point without cutting through the Veil itself. You felt something when I did this?” The scholar in Emmerich was coming out as a look of excitement took over his features.

“Spite felt Rook. Could feel her. Close to. The Wall where. The Wizard picked at it. She is. There. She is. Alive. Tries to. Come home! Spite can find her. Am certain now.” Emmerich and Neve’s jaws dropped open as they stared at Lucanis and Spite in disbelief. Lucanis was just as shocked as they were, Spite had said nothing of this to him. Lucanis was asleep, Spite murmured to him internally, Needed sleep. Spite did not want to wake. Wasn’t sure until this morning. Felt her again.

“He says he felt her again this morning.” Said Lucanis as he took control of his body back from Spite, who put up no fight. “Were you doing it again earlier?” Lucanis was practically vibrating with nervous, excited energy. 

“No…” Emmerich spoke slowly, “But… it’s entirely possible that the place where I thinned the Veil last night is still weakened. If Rook were close to it, then…” Lucanis, Neve, and Emmerich stared at each other for a breath before all three jumped into action.

“Neve!” Emmerich ordered, “Start the enchantment the same way I showed you last night. You’ll need to hold it for as long as you can. It will most likely take Lucanis, Spite, and I several minutes to locate her.” The necromancer then turned his attention to Lucanis and Spite. “Lucanis, I’m going to grab your arm to anchor you to me and my magic as I push through the opening in the Veil. You’ll need to channel as much energy into Spite as you can, and be ready to pull Rook through once he locates her.” Emmerich then looked past Lucanis to the place where Spite had manifested into his physical form. “Spite, I need you to go further in. You have the best sense of direction and sense of Rook’s energy in the Fade. You’ll need to guide her to where we are waiting to pull her through to this side.”

Spite nodded vigorously, looking as serious and determined as he ever had. "Spite will find Rook. Will bring her back. Bring her home. Spite will not fail." Lucanis wasn’t sure if it was his imagination playing tricks on him or not, but Spite seemed to glow a lighter shade of purple now. He abandoned the thought as Emmerich signaled that they were to begin. “Now Neve!” Emmerich grabbed Lucanis’s left forearm with more strength than the assassin had expected as he too began to wave his left hand and murmur words Lucanis couldn't make out under his breath. The Crow turned to face forward, where the air had begun to shimmer and glow slightly. It suddenly glowed much more brightly, making Lucanis squint as he watched Spite hurry through the shimmering patch. Emmerich tugged on Lucanis’s arm as he too, began to move them towards the spot Spite had disappeared through. As they stepped into the unstable opening in the Veil, Lucanis felt electric tingles shoot through his body and tasted something akin to burnt metal.  Pure magical energy, he thought faintly.

Spite weaved his way through the layers of what the humans referred to as “The Veil”. He could feel Rook much more clearly the further into the Fade he got. Spite stopped suddenly when he realized he had reached an invisible wall. He knew it was there because warning bells had started going off throughout his being. He could smell ancient, powerful magic. It smelled like a cage. The spirit scowled as he paced back and forth in front of the cage that he could now smell was the Dread Wolf’s own creation. Dickhead Spite grumbled, Always up to some kind of trick or setting some kind of trap. Trickster is always too afraid to engage in real battle and get his hands dirty. Coward. This wasn’t solving his problem though. 

Spite could then sense Rook getting closer and closer to where he stood on the opposite side of the prison. She seemed to be running now. Spite could faintly hear Lucanis and Emmerich calling out to her. 

She can hear them! He realized suddenly, and shouted to Rook, “Here! Rook! Come this way, Spite will guide you back!” After an agonizing moment, Spite could feel her change direction slightly and begin moving towards him. “Yes! That’s the right way! You’re almost here! I can almost reach you!” Spite shouted, his voice taking on a slightly desperate tone. Come one Rook, he begged to himself, Please come home. They all need you. He needs you. WE need you. 

Then, it happened. Spite could feel her arm break through the wall of the cage. He grabbed her immediately and helped her to fight through the barrier that wanted so badly to keep her. MINE! Spite growled angrily in his mind. Pulling as hard as he could, even tapping into Lucanis’s strength, Spite finally got Rook on the other side of the prison with him. Giddy excitement hummed throughout Spite’s form as he quickly guided her towards where he could feel his tether to Lucanis grow stronger. He could hear Emmerich and his partner more clearly now as they shouted for Rook.

When he could at last see their shadowy forms at the very edge of the Fade, Spite pulled Rook towards him, closing the rest of the distance between her and Lucanis. Guiding her hands into Lucanis’s outstretched ones, Spite made sure Lucanis had a good hold on her before returning to his host to lend his own strength.

Lucanis felt her hands on his own and had to fight tears as he fought to pull her from the Fade. It didn’t seem to want to give her up, and for a split second Lucanis was terrified he wouldn’t be able to get her out. Spite’s energy washed over him then, their souls weaving back together upon the spirit’s sudden return to his body. Together now, they had no trouble freeing Rook from the final layers of the Veil. Lucanis tumbled to the ground as he and Spite dragged Rook into the mortal plane where she belonged. Rook landed heavily on top of him. Her weight pressed against his body was a welcome feeling after so long without her. 

Pure relief washed over him as the green eyes which had captured his heart upon their first encounter, slid up slowly to meet his own. She was here. She was really, truly, here in his arms. Rook looked exactly as she had when she had been pulled into the Fade three long weeks ago. He watched as she quickly took in her surroundings, noticing for the first time himself that Taash and Davrin had joined them in Emmerich’s quarters at some point during the rescue. Turning to look down at the woman in his lap again, Lucanis watched as a small, exhausted but relieved smile found its way onto her face. Then, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she went limp in his grasp. 

Just sleeping, Spite’s words stopped his immediate panic in its tracks. Rook is exhausted. Much energy spent in the Fade. She rests now. Safe with us. The spirit seemed incredibly content for the first time in… well maybe ever. Lucanis closed his own eyes as he felt several tears run down his own cheeks in relief and gratitude. Rook was home.

Thanks for making it if you read the whole thing, I know it was a long one!

Part 8

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

DATV MasterList

[asheli1515]

The Ghosts We Carry || Rafe Cameron - Chapter 1

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<<previous next>>

a/n: soft!rafe x fem!character (OC)

word count: ~2k

warnings/disclaimers: fluff, angst, familial loss, grief, brief mention of substances (alcohol, drugs, etc.), season 4 plotline (I'm grieving), out-of-character rafe after a while, emotional intimacy, smut is there if you squint, blood, violence, dangerous situations, dual pov

summary: after a reckless night of partying, Rafe Cameron finds himself alone at the beach walking home. During his trek, he bumps into a quiet, mysterious newcomer who seems to see beyond his tough exterior. Despite Rafe's reputation and his defensive attitude, the newcomer refuses to judge him. They strike up an unexpected connection, and soon, their late-night conversations become the highlight of Rafe's days. As their bond deepens, Rafe finds himself torn between his need to prove himself and his new feelings for someone who doesn't want anything from him but the truth. Will Rafe let down his walls and risk everything for love, or will his inner turmoil and need to make something of himself tear them apart?

series masterlist

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VIVIENNE

I found myself on a beach in the town that I would now have to call home, unfamiliar with my surroundings. The night brought a chill I had never felt in my evenings spent in Texas. I felt a nostalgia for something I never thought I would have to, for my old life, my old self. The events that led to this would fundamentally change anyone; I was not the exception. I felt like a shell of the person I once was, haunted by memories that I could never get back. I just couldn’t bear to stay there anymore as all the places I frequented brought up memories that hurt to relive.

It had been 3 months since my brother’s sudden death shook the foundation of my life. He had been my caretaker for most of my life as my father was out of the picture, and my mother had to work several jobs in order to pay rent. He was my solace in this unrelenting world, and suddenly… he was gone. He was driving to my apartment one evening for our weekly dinner. That was until a drunk driver ran a red light and swerved into his car, hitting it head-on. He was pronounced dead on the scene, and I received the call from the police soon after. It felt like it was my fault because he was driving to my apartment. Maybe if we had rescheduled just that one time, he would still be alive.

My whole world was shattered; my older brother, by 2 years, was dead, and I felt as though maybe I had died with him. I have just been going through the motions for the past months as I tried to figure out how I was supposed to live without him. He was only twenty-four and had so much left to offer this world. I don’t think I will ever find it in myself to forgive the driver who killed him, and that alone haunts me. I am not a vengeful person and always believed myself to be forgiving. However, this man was the reason I would never see my brother again, and this caused me to have an anger I had never felt before.

Moving to Kildare was supposed to be a fresh start, but I still found the painful memories following my every step. Tonight was a particularly difficult night, and I needed fresh air. That is the reason I am currently leaning up against a decaying tree trunk admiring the ocean I rarely got to see in Texas. The complete and utter silence of the night was something I needed so desperately, but I also craved human interaction. I’ve barely talked to anyone since moving, as Kildare is very tight-knit and wary of anyone new. This fact is understandable, but I still longed for new relationships. The bleak outlook on this situation made me question my decisions. I couldn’t be alone anymore, but I had no idea how that would change.

I was brought out of my thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps, which was odd, considering it was around two in the morning. I turned to look and saw a man who looked around my age strolling down the beach. He seemed in no hurry to get anywhere in particular, as his pace was nothing of note. His gaze finally reached me, and his blank face was replaced with a questioning look. It was almost as if the universe heard my pleas for someone, anyone, to talk to because there he was—a stranger that I could hopefully rope into a conversation.

“Hey, you!” I almost shouted at him in an attempt to get his attention. It seemed like he didn’t hear me, though, because I received no response. “Hello? Did you not hear me?” I asked with a genuine curiosity. He stared at me momentarily, almost as if he was calculating his next move.

He then asked a question that nearly made me giggle because of its ridiculousness. I wasn’t sure if I had heard him right because he had just questioned who I was talking to, as if the beach was full of people. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you see anyone else near us?” I laughed as I asked him this. “No, I guess I don’t,” he answered straight and to the point. His face again showed a look of calculation as if he was unsure of what to do next.

I found this fact quite endearing and looked for a way to keep the conversation going for as long as possible. I pat the sand next to me to indicate that I wanted him to join me, if only for a moment. When he saw this, he hesitated before finally deciding to take the seat next to me.

As soon as he sat down, I smelled a mix of what I could only assume was alcohol and expensive cologne. This fact did not shock me as I was on the rich side of the island, which they called Figure Eight. I took a moment to look at him as I could not see him before when he was further away. His buzzed haircut complimented him well, and his blue eyes looked like the ocean only mere feet ahead of us. He was wearing a nice polo and some khaki pants that solidified the fact that he had money.

I noticed he was slightly buzzed and seemed focused on the horizon before us. I resolved to let him speak first, so I mirrored his actions and looked out towards the expansive waters. A long time passed before he spoke, but he eventually did.

“Who are you?” he asked, intrigued by what my answer would be. The question didn’t come as a surprise to me as no one in this town knew who I was. “My name is Vivienne Whitlock, and you are?” I questioned back as I was just as eager to learn about the person sitting next to me. He took in my answer and replied, “Rafe Cameron.” He did not elaborate further but had another question ready to ask me before I could say anything.

“Why have I never seen you before?” he inquired. I knew every time I introduced myself to someone, I would have to answer these questions, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was hard to explain why I moved to Kildare without explaining my brother’s passing. It was like reopening the wound; I wasn’t sure if I could do that right now. However, something about this Rafe Cameron character intrigued me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I still smelled the alcohol on him, and it was clear he had just left a party to head home.

Maybe that is why he decided to walk, as he was clearly still feeling the effects of the drinks he had consumed not long before. I admired him for this fact, and, at that moment, I decided to trust him. I knew I had no information about him besides his name, but at least until this conversation ended, I knew there would be no reason for me to be worried about the person next to me.

“I just moved here from Texas. I needed a fresh start.” I say, hoping that my explanation was enough. He nodded as if understanding the need for a new beginning, something I’m not sure he had the privilege of having. “I see. Any reason why you chose here of all places?” he followed up. I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer this question, but I responded, “There is no particular reason why I chose to move here. I just needed to get away from some bad memories.” My face betrayed me at that moment as tears pricked at my eyes.

I looked away from Rafe, not wanting to cry in front of him as I had just met him. I had no idea what he thought about my reaction as he was silent, and I didn’t dare to look back at him. Suddenly, I felt a hand lay gently on my back, and I jumped slightly at the contact.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t know what else to do,” he said defensively. I sighed as I replied, “You don’t have to apologize. I just wasn’t expecting that because, if I’m being honest, I haven’t talked to anyone in a while.” I don’t know why I told him this as I swore to myself that who I was back in Texas wouldn’t follow me here.

That was the whole reason for the move, anyway. Yet here I was, explaining my entire life story to someone closer to a stranger than not. I looked back at him, and his expression was hard to gauge. I could have never anticipated what he said next.

“Why is that?” His response was said with an amount of curiosity that shocked me. I thought that after he saw me almost cry, he would immediately get up and leave. He didn’t do that, though, as he remained in place, making it seem like he needed this conversation to continue as much as I did. This reaction confused me as it didn’t seem to fit who he was. He had a rough exterior that seemed like it took people a while to get through. He seemed to almost care about why I was here on the beach this late at night.

“I don’t have anyone anymore. That’s why I am sitting alone on a beach at two in the morning.” I say with a light but sad tone. He seems to absorb and process my words within a few seconds. His response took longer, though, as it was apparent he was trying to find the proper response. “Why is that?” He asked quietly and carefully, as if saying it like that would potentially lessen my anger if that was the response I chose. I stared at the rolling waves as if they would give me support as I answered him. I decided to be honest with him as I would probably never see him again after tonight.

“My brother, Griffin, died a couple of months ago because a drunk driver hit him while he was on his way to my apartment for our weekly dinner,” I responded as a few tears trickled down my face. I wiped my tears and finally gathered the courage to look back at Rafe. His gaze held a sympathy that knocked the breath out of me. It was more emotion than I ever expected from him, and it made me realize that I had been longing for someone to talk to about this for a long time.

“I’m so sorry, Vivienne. That must have been awful.” His voice was sympathetic, just like I expected it to be. I nodded in agreement, and, in that moment, all of the emotions I had been holding in since Griffin’s death came flooding out of me. It was like a dam had opened in my soul because I felt all the pain I had locked away three months ago. Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed quietly, the only other noise being the waves hitting the shore.

“Hey, i-it’s okay. What do I do? What should I do?” Rafe questioned, obviously shocked by the scene that was unfolding before him. Instead of saying anything, I just laid my head on his shoulder because that was all I could do. He stiffened at the contact, his arms suspended above me as he was unsure of the correct response. I eventually felt his arms wrap around me as he relaxed into the hug. I felt some tension leave his body just as it had mine. We stayed like that for a while as it was apparent that the physical contact was needed more than either of us was willing to admit.

Rafe continued to act the opposite of what his demeanor suggested, and I realized he might be just as damaged by his circumstances as I was. That thought comforted me as I noticed the sun peaking above the horizon, indicating the arrival of morning.

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a/n: hey yall! This chapter introduces our main character, yay! Can't wait to continue this story. Please comment and lmk what yall think!! - Ash <3

[wwerasliin-sideblog]

unpopular opinion —

I swear heel Cody in disguise definitely knows what he keeps doing to Kevin. He knew how Kevin felt about the whole I'll give you a shot at my title match, yet he played on Kevin's emotions, just right, manipulating him into doing it anyway.

He took advantage of their friendship and all that comes with it - knowing Kevin's weaknesses and using it. He forced him into something he really didn't want and wasn't comfortable with doing in the first place.

And, then, after the fact clings onto Kevin and has the gall to act all hurt when Kevin just wanted to be left alone, wanting a bit of space right after the devastating blow of loosing his match to Cody.

Especially, when he didn't want to fight Cody to begin with. Cody, who couldn't even give it his 100% because he was 'hurt'. That in itself putting Kevin at a 'disadvantage'. Because, now, he is being extra careful with Cody. Trying to be "good" and not take advantage of Cody's weakness, unlike Cody taking advantage of his.

But Cody knowing all that, knowing that Kevin is struggling, is having all this inner turmoil about the whole situation still went through with it. Forced Kevin into a match for his own gain.

And, now. He's teaming up with with the man (Roman) that's given Kevin so much grief over the past 4 years. Unrelentingly. Not just in a faux superficial kind of way. But, a genuinely intense, destructive and brutal rivalry. Made to make Kevin's life miserable.

And, then, Cody just comes out here last night, acting like nothing's changed. Pulling Kevin into another one of his hugs, again, clinging onto him, again. Kevin, giving into it. Again.

So yea I wouldn't mind at all if Kevin turned heel on his ass. But, I feel like Cody has already turned heel on our assess right under our noses and we just haven't realised it yet. We've been too busy being enamored by his shiny "American Nightmare" persona, that we've completely missed it. (also the things he said to Roman last night was low-key diabolical, mean and manipulative😂)

[awildaspenappeared]

Day 6 of @traumas-tmntober-2024 An Injustice

Two Weeks of Eternity

A farewell was something Donnie was far too young to have let alone a funeral. None of them could process the fact that he was gone and they didn't even have his body to bury.

OR

What if April couldn't bring Donnie back

Word Count: 1489

Two weeks. Two weeks was a very short amount of time. Two weeks was common. Two weeks was a blip in the universe. Two weeks wasn't even anything that special within just a year. Yet, the two weeks it had been since Donnie had passed stretched on like an eternity.

Raphael sat in silence, rolling his wrist absentmindedly. His fingers were tightly wrapped in bandages, splinted with a precision that should’ve been Donnie’s work. But it wasn’t Donnie. It was Leo. Leo, who had quietly taken over the task Donnie used to scold him about, patching up injuries, grumbling under his breath about Raph's recklessness. The absence of Donnie’s voice, that familiar mixture of annoyance and care, hung over him like a ghost. Was it strange to miss being scolded?

He didn't know where he had gotten that injury. His knuckles throbbed as he tried to think back to where it could of happened. Moments after April- He punched the metal column harshly once. Then again. And again.

Later on, when April had come back to her senses, Raphael had decided to remedy that. By beating her senseless. She had killed his little brother. His twin. She had done so many awful, inexcusable things to Donnie that he had let slide. He'd even let Donnie's own strange behaviour, his misplaced loyalty in her go a little for his sake but he was not going to sleep on this. He was done managing his temper.

So he snapped and charged toward her, knocked her to the ground. He pulled back and rammed forward right for her nose, the wet crack of cartilage echoed in the dim alley. The second hit landed squarely on her jaw. Twice. Then he hit her cheekbone. Then her lip. He punched her so hard she was coughing up blood and teeth. He got one more wallop to the eye before Leo had bothered to pull him off of that bitch!

Raphael didn’t resist. He couldn’t bring himself to fight his brothers, no matter how much rage clawed at his chest. But as he turned back toward April, a low growl tore from his throat. He spat at her, his disgust seething through his entire body. The sight of her mangled face and tangled hair had barely even satisfied him. His heart hammered as he breathed raggedly, he itched to do more. Deep inside he was still screaming to do more but it was all pointless. If Donnie knew what he'd just done he would be livid. But Donnie was gone now.

Raph would bet money that if Donnie somehow managed to come back after that he would just forgive her and move on immediately. Too soft-hearted, too goddamned willing to let her get away with everything, even when it had destroyed him in the end. He was so down bad it had gotten him killed. It infuriated him. Raphael raised his good hand to knock on Leonardo's door.

Leonardo slowly tied the mask around his face, his fingers trembling as he secured the knot. The mask was such a deep, inky blue that in the dim light, it seemed indistinguishable from black. It clung to his scales, a second layer meant to hide the cracks in his composure, to bury the emotions clawing their way to the surface. The dark fabric would conceal the tears he knew were coming, the moisture soaking in without a trace, but it couldn’t hide the bloodshot edges of his eyes. They glared through the narrow slits, raw with the weight of sleepless nights and a mind tangled in turmoil.

He stared into the mirror, the mask transforming him into a stranger. It was ironic, how something meant to conceal could only magnify his pain. Yet still, he tied the mask tighter, hoping it would somehow hold everything in place: his face, his grief, his unravelling.

They were holding his funeral today. There wasn’t much they could do without a body, but their father was used to that kind of grief. He had mourned Tang Shen for sixteen long years and Miwa for fifteen. So the funeral had been set up accordingly but they had all seen their Sensei's face yesterday. His eyes deep with an ache he had learned to carry in silence, and now, it was happening again.

The rituals would be the same as they'd always witnessed: flowers, incense, whispered prayers, but the emptiness would weigh heavier without a body to lay to rest. And with how he died, his soul could be just as vapourised

A cool hand rested on his shoulder, causing him to look at his younger brother. It was painful to see him in a mask colour so unlike his own. Where Leo's mask was blue it wasn't too unsightly to see himself in black but the dark carmine of Raphael's mask made him want to weep again. It didn't suit his fiery personality, the anger that was meant to fuel his every move.

Instead it was just the underlying fear that was present. He had to be strong for the both of them. He steeled himself, clenching his fist tight, fingernails digging under the scales and teeth clenching painfully. With great difficulty he reached up to Raph's hand with his own and rested there for just a moment before he brushed him off and silently made for the door.

He wasn't strong enough for weak words right now. Small comforts and placations wouldn't work on Raph if he had the strength to try. It felt odd describing himself as leading Raph to Mikey even though if Donnie were here, that very same act wouldn't have changed at all. Every consuming thought was plagued by the nightmare-turned-reality.

Leo didn’t bother stopping at Mikey’s room. He already knew it was empty. Mikey hadn’t slept there since that night. He had always spent more time in other parts of the lair, but now he avoided his room entirely, as if stepping inside might force him to confront the nightmare they were all living in. Lately, Mikey either slept in Leo or Raph’s room, wandered through the kitchen, dozed off on the couch, or sat silently in Donnie’s lab. Mikey’s usual energy had been snuffed out, his laughter hollow, his smiles strained and far too thin to convince anyone that he was okay. Every joke fell flat, and seeing that forced brightness on Mikey’s face was almost worse than his sadness.

The sliding door of the dojo parted easily, where the funeral was to be held and where they found Mikey. He was darting from place to place: rearranging flowers in an intricate pattern; placing a photo of Donnie on an easel so it was easy to see; and straightening up the little trinkets placed on the small wooden shrine. At the top of the shrine sat Donnie’s mask—the only thing left of him since April…

Casey stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, watching in silence. The weight of the moment stretched on, unbroken until finally someone spoke.

“This doesn’t feel real,” Casey muttered, his voice low.

Raph scoffed softly. “You can say that again, Jones.”

“This is surreal!” He repeated with a bitter tone. And he meant it. Just two weeks ago Donnie had trained in this very dojo, full of life but getting his ass beat. Now he had a mourning shrine here to offer a cruel solace to the living as he floated through space and time or whatever hell April had condemned him to.

Leo dragged his feet along the carpet as he made his way to Master Splinter's door. He knew when he knocked, he would emerge. Then he'd let everyone else attending Donatello's funeral in. Karai, Slash, Leatherhead, Dr Rockwell, Pidgeon Pete, Mondo Gecko, Timothy, and Shinigami. Everyone they knew and trusted were to be let in to pay respects to Donnie. Leo knew it was selfish to stand here with his hand raised to knock yet still refuse to start it just to put it off for himself.

He wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. The crushing weight of admitting Donnie was truly gone pressed down on him like an anvil. The finality of it wrapped around his chest, constricting until it was hard to breathe. He wasn’t ready to accept that there was nothing left of his baby brother par memories, nothing but this pain shared between them all. But Leo knew he couldn’t hold onto this moment forever. He had to let the others grieve too. This wasn’t a burden for him to carry alone. He was probably selfish, hoping it was just his burden because that would mean none of them cared for Donnie.

With a deep breath, Leo finally raised his hand and knocked. There was no turning back now.

Truthfully, Leo knew there had been turning back as soon as Donnie started to plead and beg April for his life.

Hello!! I say todays prompt but its 3am of the 7th Whoops. Todays prompt was hard to get started but thanks to @agalactichalo I was able to start steamrolling this fic.

It ended up being an episode rewrite plus an au because the writers constantly served an injustice to the audience withApril's poor writing. They couldn't handle complex trauma and plots for her and they always bent the story so she would be painted in the most positive light even when she didn't deserve it. I was so angry when none of the brother's reacted to Donnie's death properly and just forgave April immediately. It was so poorly handled and Donnie doesnt process trauma like at all. Like please, babygirl, you can process the fact you just died!!

Also the panning and zoom in on Casey was so funny. Like why did they choose Jones, his rival out of everyone to focus on aftsr his death if they weren't destined to be boyfriends??? And the rain!! Pathetic Fallacy at its finest and these are two pathetic idiots in love your honour. Anywhizzle, I rewrote it with Raph beating the crap out if April because thats more in line with his character that the episode to me and I found it cathartic. Fanon April I love you so much, pls dont hate me.

Also does anyone know if its 'bar' or 'par' or 'pare' for 'something absolute EXCEPT this'? Many thanks if so!

[aeoris4lovers]

(click here to read on ao3)

The Thelyss manor was far colder than usual on the night Deirta Thelyss received word from the Aurora Watch in Bazzoxan, a message long expected but never spoken of aloud. Death itself chilled every inch of the stone, a stubborn draft that no door or window would dare try to keep out. The sour realization of new grief clung to every throat and held the house hostage in its vise. As they struggled to catch their breath, the thick silence sat heavy in their lungs. 

Ever the poised diplomat, Deirta kept her grief behind closed doors, shutting out even her own sons. The moment the messenger took their leave, she locked herself away in the room she once shared with her husband. No one would see her fall to the ground; no one would hear the cries she choked into a pillow that had already stopped smelling like him. When she finally emerged – days later, not having eaten or rested since the news came — it would be with smoothed hair and a stoic face, her formal mourning attire the only sign of her grief allowed to remain. Her sons would wonder if she had ever loved him, if she had ever loved, and she would make no effort to convince them of her capacity for the feeling.

At the door, Essek stood behind his mother, memorizing each word the moment they left the messenger’s lips: weeks had passed and their search parties had been unsuccessful. With all options exhausted, his father was presumed dead.

The weight on his shoulders, which he had waited so long to have lifted from him by that news, only grew heavier. He stood there long after the messenger left and his mother tucked herself away, staring unblinkingly at the closed door until his vision blurred, each word replaying itself to the point of senselessness. They jumped and turned in his mind like pebbles on a sea floor, smoothed by the currents of emotion that drained from him and left him numb, until there was no such thing to Essek Thelyss as a death or a father.

He didn’t look away as his brother came down the stairs to meet him, though each step on the cold stone sounded to his ears and felt to his chest like a gunshot. He didn’t know if the steady pulse he heard crashing over his head was Verin’s voice calling his name or the sound of his own blood rushing past his ears.

If he had looked up, Essek would have seen Verin there, eyes wide and spilling over with tears in spite of himself, looking suddenly so much like a child again, begging his older brother silently for answers: What have we done? What do we do now? How should this feel?

But Essek only kept staring, eyes trained on the ornate front door as though it were the lid sealed over his own casket, as a warm and calloused hand wound its fingers through his own.

The Thelyss brothers stood there, swallowed by the dark chasm of the empty foyer, until their legs grew tired and they fell together to the ground. Shadows of the events of the past weeks spiraled around them — words snarled and spat, doors slammed with bone-chilling finality, sides taken in a war of blood against blood, the silence that fell in the wake of it all. In the eye of that storm, they held tight to each other, their hands their only tether as the past’s vicious death rattle threatened to sweep them into its oblivion. Neither would remember how much time passed before the torrent calmed at last and they could breathe again, and take stock of all that they had lost and gained.

It was a bittersweet success, to fend off an evil that was also a father. There was no sweet thrill of victory to be found, nor any meaningful relief, in cutting the head from a beast that looked back at them with their own eyes. There was a calmness that came, foreign to them and welcome in its difference from the turmoil they had grown used to, but absence was a calmness that comforted only as it ate away at them from the inside out. 

In the coming years, there would be an unspoken understanding between the brothers, sealed in the furnace of heat shared by clasped hands. On the surface, it would call itself, “I do not blame you.” Beneath countless layers of carefully curated masks, though, its true name would be, “If you are to blame, then so am I.” 

In truth, both would always carry the weight of the part they played in bringing death to the halls of their home, but would refuse to place even an ounce of that burden on the other. Even as they said there was no other way — that their father had gotten only what he deserved, that their crimes incited no remorse and required no forgiveness — they would wash each other’s hands of all that had happened. Time and time again they would pardon and absolve each other, as if their brother’s innocence were the last thing capable of saving their own souls, as if the blood in their own veins would turn to venom the moment they allowed the other to be corrupted.

And every time their hands would find each other again, even in anger or after years apart, the touch would burn with the flaming ghost of the promises forged that night.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Hello! (feel free to not respond as the fic is not finished yet) I have been adoring ISAR, I love you taking a different route between the pregnancy in Isar compared to that mfl one shot (I assume of course) but either way I imagine she would still have those tough moments because it is pregnancy after all and it's already hard to take care of herself. I love seeing her get peace but can't help but imagine or ask if there's still those moments where she's in pain and emotions everywhere and it hurts a little extra that Vax isn't there compared to Icallw? is there ever those nights of physical pains and aches where she knows if he was there it might hurt a little less? does it make the pregnancy much harder having to be and care by herself in those times?

hi! i don't really want to compare mfl/icallw and isar bc the stories are so dramatically different, and i also feel very hesitant to discuss the minutiae and day-to-day of being pregnant as someone who has never been pregnant and gods willing never will be. in isar, i imagine keyleth is the kind of person who is very good at not thinking about the things that she doesn't want to be thinking about, and i believe that includes what her pregnancy would look and feel like if vax were there to share it with her. obviously things are literally more difficult when you have to do them by yourself, like moving around and getting dressed, although keyleth has alma and her father to help with a lot. the thing i really wanted to focus on in isar, though, was the emotional turmoil, the jumble of thoughts and feelings and questions that come up when a) you're having a kid you didn't plan for, b) you weren't sure if or when you wanted kids in the first place, c) the person you loved died, d) you blame yourself for it, and e) all of this is happening as you're coming out of an extraordinarily high-stress situation with the expectation of being a leader and a major political figure on the world stage. the story is really less about keyleth's pregnancy and more about her discovering who she is during and after this period of extreme upheaval and change.

all that being said, yes, i would imagine that it is quite difficult to be the only person who can understand exactly what you're going through, to know that everything you would share with your partner, not just the joy and the excitement, but the grief and the sorrow, you must ultimately endure alone, knowing that the grief and the sorrow wouldn't even be there if you weren't alone in the first place. obviously keyleth, being a fictional character, isn't aware that in another universe, she and vax live happily ever after and have a thriving family together, but i imagine that if she did know that, it would be a tough pill to swallow indeed.

[fairycosmos]

hi chloe <3

i'm having a really hard time getting over a breakup that lichrally happened 2 months ago (!!) this isn't my first breakup but it's the one that i've cried 63 times over (not exaggeration i keep count of how many times i cry LOL)

anyways i joke around w my friends if the topic comes up and he's there but inside i can actually feel my emotional turmoil create holes in my heart </3

you don't need to give me advice if you don't want to but any words of encouragement help

thank you <3

hiii im so sorry to hear this love :( tbh i thought you were saying "its been 2 months" as a way to like explain that it's all still raw and fresh!! when you really love someone 2 months is nothing!! it's sort of a version of grief and i think you should give yourself all the time and self compassion and nights crying that it takes to get back on your feet. it's completely understandable, literally everything you're saying sounds soooo par for the course and billions of the heartbroken girlies can relate. look, take as long as you need. it's alright to joke with your friends and crumble in private, it's also OK to talk to your friends about what you're dealing with and to be honest with yourself about how much it hurts. breakups are the fucking worst and i don't blame you at all for feeling like an emotional mess right now - you kind of have to be first to get to the point where you're picking up the pieces and moving forward. i hope you have good people around you and i hope you can be gentle with yourself and focus on looking after yourself go get through the day to day slog of grieving a relationship. you do deserve that grace and you do deserve to connect with someone and be loved in a way that lasts!! it's awful and fucked up that that wasn't meant to be with this perspn after all the time and energy you invested into them - you have a right to be upset and hurt and mad. it wont last forever but while it does it's hell so your feelings are completely justified. sending the biggest hug. please drop by my inbox if you ever need a friend, seriously. much love ❤️

[oftincturedwords]

Title: Ties Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Star Wars : The Bad Batch Rating: T+ Chapter Warnings: ¡Spoilers! Crying , Grief/Mourning , Implied Canon Character Death , Angst , Nightmares , Explicit Nightmares , etc. Characters: Crosshair & Omega Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort , Brother - Sister Dynamics , Holding Hands , Crying , etc. Timeline: Based off of Star Wars : The Bad Batch series three trailer ; scene with Crosshair & Omega in cells beside each other Pairings: Gen. None. Word Count: 3034 Overall Summary: Crosshair doesn't allow his gaze to drift towards the cell next to his, the open slates between them allowed him some view of the entrance and within the cell the kid usually occupied. It was too great risk for familiarly to be used as leverage against them. But he can't remain distant when he knows something is wrong. Chapter Summary: Crosshair wakes in the middle of the night to hear Omega crying. He tries his best to help. A/N: These ideas just sprang to my head once I heard of the scene between Omega & Crosshair in the Star Wars Celebration trailer , thus add my apparent enjoyment of causing turmoil for my favourite characters , I couldn't help but write this ficlet up. I wrote it & the next chapter ( which will be posted in a few day ) up in a single night because of the inspiration so here's to hope it's coherent & in-character as I think it is ! Thus consider this a small collection of interconnecting one - shots of Crosshair & Omega whilst they are held on Tantiss. If more ideas come to mind , the chapter count will go up & the tags will be updated. I have no beta this all mistakes are mine. Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Star War : The Clone Wars & Star Wars : The Bad Batch. Neither am I associated with Lucasfilms , Disney+ , nor any of the actors who portray these characters. I make no money off any of my stories , this is purely for entertainment purposes. Read On : ao3 | under the cut

Wakefulness came instantaneously to Crosshair. Much like the times when on a mission he would be woken to take his turn of the watch, a near silent whisper of his name from one of his brothers and he was roused enough to fight if it had been needed. The instincts and habits born during combat, or from combat training, hadn't lessened any in the countless weeks he had spent as a prisoner. For his eyes were open and mind alert before he knew exactly what had woken him.

Drawn from the depths of sleep by the softest of out-of-place noise. A breathy, hiccuping sound that was familiar in the sense he had heard it before. Although the memory of it was distant, it had happened years ago in what seemed like another life, and any recollection was immediately dismissed when it registered that the stifled crying was coming from the kid’s cell.

Tensing at that realisation, Crosshair listened a moment more to the muffled sniffles and shallowly exhaled sobs from the cell directly next to his. They were quiet in a way that was deliberate and purposefully, yet desolate and grieved sounding to the point, he knew there was nothing the kid could have done to stop crying altogether. They were the tears of the emotional wrought, which never heeded logic nor yielded to restraint or threats, they wouldn't stop until they were spent.

Normally, Crosshair would have left the kid alone. He knew he wasn't good with words of comfort at the best of times and the barrier separating their cells, despite the slats that were vented through the durasteel and allowed them to see into each other’s room, it still physically barred any actions of comfort he could offer. Not that they had much to offer in way of amenities anyway, but he could have at least added his blanket to hers or sat beside her until her tears ran dry as he had done before for his brothers.

However, he wasn't sure if it would even work for her if he had been able to do that.

But after what had happened only a handful of days ago, Crosshair wasn't going to leave anything to chance with the kid if he could help it. Just because he thought he knew why she was crying didn't mean he could be wrong, he had been intimately shown that he could and had repeatedly been wrong before. Thus he, quickly yet equally as quiet, turned on his cot until he was laying on his belly and could look towards the apertures between their cells.

The lighting was dimmed to the point of blackness, aside from the red glow the shielding of their cell entrances gave off, but Crosshair had zero issue with seeing that the kid was sitting up on the bunk. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and she had her head buried into her folded arms, all but consumed by the sole blanket they had all been issued that she had lain and tucked over herself.

He could visibly see the blanket shift with every hitch of her breaths and jolt of her small frame. The greyed fabric quavered with the strength of her trembling in-between every jarring sob she fought to restrain and quiet.

“Kid.” Crosshair called out in a whisper, which caused an instant cessation of the repressed sobbing and a stillness to overcome the kid as if his voice had physically froze her on the spot.

Seeing such a reaction had Crosshair’s lips twisting moreso into a frown. The response had been a fearful one, instinctive to the point it was nearly innate. Although, he wasn’t surprised at it given how Kamino raised its clones and their current situation as captives to scientists of even less compassion than those who bred them to begin with. It felt wrong to see, and sparked at that bitterly simmering anger that always burnt within his chest.

“Crosshair?” Came her choked whisper, thick with tears and broken between the syllables of his name, as if she had spoken in the middle of a sob, whilst she tilted her head up a fraction to see over her arms and from under the blanket she had draped over her head.

“What is it?” He asked in way of an answer, his voice a sibilant murmur.

His words again had an instant effect upon her. And he could only watch as she swallowed back another sob, a pair of crystalline tears falling from her reddened eyes and slipping in twin rivulets down her already damp cheeks before she shut her eyes tightly and shook her head in the negative repeatedly. Dropping it back into her arms whilst her whole body shuddered, he heard her give a gasping breath that was only muffled by how vehemently she was pressing herself against her mouth to silence the noise.

The split second all that had taken to occur had sent a lancing of panic through Crosshair’s chest. His mind involuntarily conjured up the images of days prior and brought forth the very same helpless terror he had felt then, thus he’s shoving down his blanket without caring where he lay and throwing his legs over the side of the bunk to get up in the next instant.

Soundlessly crossing the short expanse of the room in hardly the time it would take to breathe his next breath, Crosshair came up to the adjoining wall of their cells that held a small space between it and the end of his bunk that he could crouched down by yet still see through the lower ends of the open slats on the wall. It was less conspicuous to any passing guards if they happened to walk by or check the cameras since it would afford him the sparse few seconds to return to his bunk or appear to be anything other than talking with the kid.

He moved automatically, an ingrained habit to conceal and hide that hadn't left his muscle memory from the years he’d spent in the main barracks on Kamino before he and his brothers had been given their own privately shared quarters. Yet if something were dangerously wrong with the kid, his secrecy wound proved unneeded for he would ensure the guards brought medical up and to her if she needed it. After last time, he doubted he would have to make much of a racket to get them to obey.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his harsh whisper laced with a steeliness that sharpened his tone, the underlying of heightened concern was buried beneath its acerbity.

The only answer he received were the chocked sounds of her muffled weeping.

“Omega.” He called, an urgency within the sole whisper of her name that held every ounce of worry and tension he was feeling.

“‘M not hurt,” She finally answered after a stretched handful of moments, her words a tad garbled by her tears but understandable enough, “Or sick. Just, just had a nightmare.”

Crosshair felt himself practically wilt against the wall before him, a relief it wasn't anything more serious and potentially life threatening washed over him with an immediacy that left him feeling shaky. But he simply breathed out the stress of the last several minutes in a muted exhale, willing his mind away from the images his memories held of a few days ago.

Pausing only a moment to contemplate her words further, nothing physical was wrong, but it didn't make her distress any less. It'd been a few years since Crosshair had helped any of his brothers with nightmares of this extent. Since leaving Kamino they had all dealt with them differently than they had as cadets, never alone still, unless any of them professed the want to be alone after them.

But it was more of waking them if they couldn't on their own, then offering a sip-pack of filtered water and sitting nearby until the haunting images faded enough for them to return to sleep. If sleeping again wasn't an option, then staying up till the terror or ill feelings weren't so pressing. Or so Crosshair had always done. He wasn't one for many words, nor comfortingly eloquent, and so he didn't offer much assurances that way. Actions usually spoke louder than words anyway.

Thus Crosshair simply turned around from where he knelt and shifted so he could sit down, cross legged with his back against the thin openings between their cells.

Leaning his head back against them, he quietly turned to sit on the durasteel flooring. It's coldness seeping through the fabric of his trousers to chill the flesh along his legs and arse, but it was negligible and not an unfamiliar sensation since he had camped out on the deck beside bunks and berths multiple times throughout his eleven years of life. Slept even on worse surfaces.

He couldn't be there next to her, but he could still sit with her as close as he their physical confines allowed him to. Attempting to offer her the silent comfort he had afforded his brothers numerous times before; the voiceless succour he’d provided hunter whenever he had migraines so painful he was entirely incapacitated yet couldn't be left alone, the same quiet amity he lent tech whenever his brother would narrate the process of a complicated project whilst he verbally worked through the issue, the soundless presence he had given the reg whenever he sat with him on his bunk during sleepless nights.

With Wrecker it had been less about crosshair offering a silent support and more about rising to meet his older brother’s energy, engaging in and initiating contests and games that they routinely fought for place as victor. It was usually Wrecker who worked to be the calm and steady company whenever Crosshair had needed it.

He wasn't certain what would best work with the kid. His options were limited as is, he knew, especially given there were eyes upon them more often than not, but perhaps this would grant a modicum of solace? If anything he would remain awake alongside her, she wouldn't be alone.

A modified silence reigned around them. No noise except for the distant humming of the buildings’ systems, the air vents cycling and the low humming that always came from the multiple glowing shields that held them all within their prisons. Only accompanied by the smothered hiccuping sobs and wet snuffling that came from the kid as she continued to quietly cry.

“I dreamt of that day on Eriadu,” He heard her speak up suddenly after several minutes had passed, explaining the reason for her upset in a subdued voice, softly heaving a stuttered breath thereafter, “The, the day that Tech...”

Crosshair stiffened at hearing her admission, startled by the onslaught of heartache hearing his little brother’s name had shot through his core. Eyes closing on their own accord, he strove to keep his own breathing even. Measured and counted.

He had been informed of what happened by Hemlock. The kriffing bastard had brandished the remains of Tech’s shattered helmet to him as if it were a trophy meant to be shown off and smiled at with revenance.

Later when he had been returned to his own cell and saw the kid was in hers, looking worriedly over at him, he had whirled on her once the guards had left them alone. Not shouting nor anywhere near loud, but demanded he did. Low and severe, he relaid what Hemlock told him to her and pressed to know if it was true. Yet he hadn't needed any verbal confirmation from her since the expression on her face and the welling of tears in her eyes had told him everything.

Shuddering, Crosshair drew a slow breath against the icy-grip of grief that reached out from his heart to clamp vice-like around his chest, intertwining its talons between each and every rib. It strove to stutter his next inhale and constrict the rest to nothing.

The ire he had initially felt when he had found out had tapered, he couldn't remain angry long enough to stave off the tide of grief anymore these last several days. Extinguished by a resurgence of memories, likely brought up by exhaustion and grief, from their years as cadets and from their graduation onwards to an elite squad in the GAR.

Stupid moments during the dull moments of missions or in-between assignments, idle chatter of conversations he hadn't remembered until now to petty arguments that felt all the more trivial to shared silences of companionship and solidarity.

Recollections of smiling, and outright laughing a few rare times, with his brothers. Of games and tears and jokes and the grittiest of missions where they barely made it out by the skin of their teeth. Memories of every sort, good and bad, had coalesced and come to the forefront of his mind unbidden. Each one worked to erode at his anger and the bitterness he had felt, it all felt frivolous and inane now. Regret had seeped in heavier than ever before, mingling with guilt and his grief to the degree he felt ill with it.

Learning of his brother’s death in an attempt to rescue him and then seeing the kid had been captured only to have her confirm his warning had been received just not followed had twisted something deep inside Crosshair. He had clung to the rage at their continued distrust of him, that they wouldn't even listen to his wanting, and had been snuffed out almost immediately.

For their squad had never been one to follow orders or adhere to any strict rules, anything ‘by the book’ was a joke they all smirked at. He shouldn't have expected anything less, even if the kid was involved. she was off the same stock after all, and living with those four for so long had to have had an influence.

Maker knows Wrecker, Tech, and the reg. held no impulse control if Hunter wasn't actively present. Thus he doubted the kid was any different.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was closer now, directly at his back, so lost to his reminiscence he hadn't heard her get up nor walk over towards where he sat, “I know you’re mourning him too. That's why I didn't want to say anything.”

Her words felt more akin to a hit to the solar plexus than the expression of sympathy that they were. And again he had to work to steady his breathing lest he lose any control over the amount of oxygen he drew in, shoving back against the pressure welling within his own chest.

Focussing instead on the faint sounds from her side of the slatted wall, hearing the soft shuffling of the kid’s clothes along with the dull thumps of her sitting down behind him. The faint warmth he could feel from her back through the slits in the wall told him she had mirrored his posture.

“But I miss them so much.” She said after a breadth of silence between them, nearer a broken whimper that continued through the wobbliness of tears to whisper, “And I want to go home, but when we get out of here and see Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo again, Tech won't— No rescue plan or any amount of credits can bring him back to us.”

Clenching his eyes closed at hearing her words, spoken so plainly and bereaved yet still she held out hope for rescue based upon her use of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’, and she remained adamant in her wish to have him return with her it seemed since she only ever referred to them instead of just herself when it came to escaping or being rescued. ‘We’ never ‘me’ or ‘I’ when she spoke of it. Believing in it so heartedly she didn't seem aware she had used such verbiage.

It brought forth another form of sadness to Crosshair's chest, the grief over knowing Tech was gone nestled beside the misery of knowing her hopes would not be met.

Omega held such belief in their brothers and in everything turning out with them reunited, even if it wasn't better or all right, that they would all see each other again. But Tech had already lost his life in an effort to rescue just him, thus locating this place and infiltrating it was a challenge unlike any they had encountered before. Too many variables to calculate against and the highest of secrecy about this place, along with the Empire’s sheer numbers and degree of control. Add to the fact, Hemlock held a sadistic ambition when it came to his experiments…

It was unlikely they would be found before something worse happened. If they could be located at all, there was an even less chance of everyone surviving that rescue attempt. In one piece or at all. There was little accuracy in her hopes, but Crosshair supposed that was why they were called hopes. They weren't actuality nor truths, simply wishes that were based upon a small shard of reality. And after everything that had been taken from her, he couldn't take that from her. Not yet, not now.

Venting a muted sigh, Crosshair bowed his head and moved a hand of his to reach back beside him through the lower end of the opening between their cells. Although his hands were lithe, he could only reach through to the knuckles nearest his palm before the edges of the slat stopped him, but it was enough for him to brush the fabric of her sleeve.

Pinching the material awkwardly between his pointer and middle finger, he tugged it gently twice to gain her attention towards his hand. Hearing her shift behind him, he released her shirtsleeve to splay out his finger slightly in a deliberate motion. Only a second's pause came from her before a quiet sniffle met the air and he felt her small hand encircle his fingers. And he curled his fingers a slight to ensure she felt his attempt to hold her hand back.

A/N: :))) I have made myself sad now… but another chapter to come , so see you soon with more feels <3 The next chapter will detail what Crosshair references in this chapter about what happened to Omega those days prior.

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 31

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 2129

Warnings: Mention of death

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: The chapters/large parts in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay Destination Unknown

****

Maverick

Five days had passed since the spreading of Charlie's ashes, and Maverick still couldn't bring himself to read her letter. Instead, he focused on two things: first, training for the mission, and second, most importantly, checking in with Ghost morning and night. She would respond almost immediately, and the two would text until they saw each other at training or bid each other good night. Maverick just wanted to keep her talking because he knew from experience that when mourning the loss of a loved one, the silence exacerbated the grief and emotions. With the mission coming up, Maverick wanted to ensure her head was in the right space.

Rooster and Hangman asked for updates on her because while they checked in on Ghost daily, her responses remained short and to the point. Despite their temporary peace for training and for Charlie's funeral, Ghost continued to keep them at arms-length, evidently still hurt by whatever had happened between them. 

Sitting at the Hard Deck's bar, Maverick watched Hangman and Rooster chatting with the Daggers, playing pool, drinking beers, and enjoying life, but he noticed the two men kept glancing over at the doorway as if expecting a certain someone to waltz in. To Maverick's astonishment, someone did. Two someones.

Bryn, her arm looped through Ghost's, escorted her friend to the bar. The Kazanky girl chirped, "Penny! Could we please have two double whiskeys on ice?"

"Of course," Penny said, smiling at the girls. Her gaze lingered a little longer on Ghost, gauging to see how the Winchester girl was holding up.

"Thanks, Penny," Ghost replied. Then, turning to Bryn, she said, "Why don't you go see the others? I'll bring the drinks over."

"Sure, but you better actually join us. Tonight's your last night on land for a bit," Bryn pointed out, grasping her friend's shoulders. "Enjoy it!"

With that, Bryn bounced off toward the Daggers. Ghost braced herself against the bar and said, "I'm pretty sure she's had about six cups of coffee today and has been bouncing off the walls since this morning."

Maverick grinned. "She keeping you company?"

"She hasn't left me alone since she found out about Mom. I don't mind the company because she knows when I want quiet and when I'm ready to talk, but she did threaten me within an inch of my life if I didn't come tonight."

"I'm glad you did. The Daggers will be happy to see you. They've been asking about you."

Ghost smiled over at the group. "I admit I've missed hanging out with them, but with the shitstorm I got myself into with Rooster and Hangman, and with the Daggers being their friends first, I felt... out of place."

"Here you go," Penny said, sliding the whiskeys on the bar. When Ghost pulled out her wallet to pay, Penny shook her head. "Yours is on the house tonight, but I'll open a tab for Bryn."

"You're the best. I promise I won't drink you dry."

"No, you'll do that when you return from the mission after celebrating your success."

"You sound so certain of it."

"If you're as much like Maverick as he claims you are, then success is the only outcome. You've got this, Ghost."

"Thanks, Penny. It means a lot to hear that. I'll see y'all later?"

"I'll be over to teach you kids a lesson in pool in a bit," Maverick promised, smirking.

"Oh, those are fighting words!"

"Let's see if you're as good at pool as you are in the air."

"Challenge accepted," Ghost said with a laugh. "I'll see you soon."

Grabbing the drinks, the female pilot maneuvered through the crowd to the Daggers, all of whom enthusiastically greeted her. Maverick watched them with a warmed heart, if not with a bit of sadness too. He shared Ghost's concern that someone wouldn't be returning from the mission.

"I know that look, Pete. Where's your head at?" Penny queried, sliding another beer to him.

"Just thinking."

"You know how bad that is for you."

Maverick chuckled. "Yeah, thinking was never my strong suit."

"Joking aside, what is it?"

"I don't know. I have this... weird feeling that things won't be the same after the mission. Something's going to happen, and the last time I felt like this, Carol died a few days later. I'm worried it's going to happen to one of them."

Penny reached over and placed her hand atop his. "You won't let anything happen to them. Or to her."

As usual, Penny had seen right past his facade. Although worried about Rooster and Hangman, Maverick's main concern centered on Ghost. Having lost her mom a mere week ago and knowing she felt alone despite having friends surrounding her, Maverick found himself terrified of what she might do to protect her wingman, whoever she chose. She displayed the same disregard for her personal safety during the training sessions that Maverick had when Goose died, only discovering it when Ice pointed it out to him. How could he tell Ghost that, though? As close as they were, they'd only known each other a few months, and telling someone they had close to suicidal tendencies, whether the person was intentionally doing so or not, was a slippery slope to go down. One could never predict how they'd handle the conversation.

"Penny, I can't stop anything from happening to her if I'm not up there with her," Maverick said quietly, "and I promised Charlie I wouldn't let anything happen to Ghost."

"And you won't. Neither will Hangman and Rooster. Speaking of Charlie, have you read Charlie's letter yet?"

"No. I can't bring myself to read it. Not sure I want to know what's inside, to be honest. We left things on such a sour note."

"I don't think she wrote you a letter to tear you down. From my experience, people write letters when they want to tell someone something difficult or something they can't tell them in person."

"It's funny how facing a mission is easier than facing an ex."

"Physical things are often easier to face than emotional, but don't dwell on those things for now. Spend some time with the Daggers, and enjoy your night, okay?"

Maverick nodded, leaning over the counter to peck her on the cheek. Then, he finagled his way to the Daggers.

"Mav! Want to play?" Hangman motioned at the pool table.

"Sure. Hey, Ghost? Be my wingman on this?" Maverick inquired, handing a pool stick to the aviator. She readily accepted. They played a couple of rounds, narrowly losing out to Phoenix and Hangman, then Rooster and Phoenix. Their third match was up against Hangman and Rooster, and the latter decided to heckle Ghost playfully while she lined up for the shot.

"You don't have the line right," he jested from behind her. "Not gonna make it. You're not gonna-"

Ghost not only nailed the ball into the socket, she also nailed Rooster in the stomach with the butt of the stick. He bent over in pain, glancing up at her with a sheepish smirk. He grunted out, "You got it."

Ghost smirked down at him and ruffled his hair. She turned around as Rooster straightened, and Maverick saw the wistfulness in his son's eyes as he watched Ghost, an unmistakable longing for her and the way they used to be. Meanwhile, oblivious to the man madly in love with her, Ghost continued on with the pool game, sinking another ball in a hole before barely missing scoring a third. She and Mav ended up winning that game, and she passed the stick back to Phoenix, who gladly challenged anyone to beat her. Hangman, naturally, took her up on it. 

As the night wore on, more drinks were imbibed, and by the time Rooster made it to the piano, Maverick wondered how any of them were still standing, let alone how they were going to be up and alert to ship out tomorrow. Nevertheless, he wouldn't stop their fun. They all needed this night, especially Ghost, who appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself while singing at the top of her lungs to 'Great Balls of Fire' alongside Rooster and the Daggers. When the song finished, the bar applauded Rooster, who danced to the chanting of his name until it ended in applause. He then slung his arms over Ghost and Bryn's shoulders and let Hangman play songs on the jukebox. More singing followed, although most of the words were slurred. 

Near the end of the night, as the bar emptied out, Maverick scanned the Hard Deck to see who remained. Bob and Phoenix were chilling in a booth with Payback and Fanboy. Omaha, Fritz, and Halo were chowing down on some pizza they'd ordered. Harvard and Yale were long gone, having slipped out earlier with a couple of girls. Coyote, Bryn, and Hangman played darts, and Rooster stood with Maverick at the bar, the former sobering up. However, his eyes rested on a figure sitting at the piano, playing a gentle tune Maverick could barely make out until a string of familiar chords reached his ears. Curious, he headed over to her with Rooster on his heels.

Approaching the piano, Maverick heard Ghost singing softly along to the melody. "Cause I've had nothin' to live for; it looks like nothin's gonna come my way, so I'm just gon' sittin' on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away."

"Where did you learn to play that?" Maverick asked, leaning against the piano.

"Rooster taught me after Dad passed," she replied, halting her playing, much to Mav's dismay. "It's the only song I ever learned. Mom said it was my grandma's favorite song and that she'd listen to it on repeat after my grandfather died. Mom said my dad loved the song, too, because of the nostalgia it brought, funny considering I don't remember ever hearing Dad play the song. I love it, though. It's a relaxing tune."

"That it is," Maverick responded, thinking back to how his own mom used to listen to it on repeat. "You played it beautifully."

"I had a great teacher," she said, smiling shyly over at Rooster. He returned it but quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. Ghost's cheerfulness faltered, and she stood. "Well, I should probably head home. We have an early day tomorrow, and I'm already regretting my life choices by staying out so late."

"You need a lift back?"

"No, sir. Bryn's brother is picking us up, if not just so he can see Halo. I appreciate it, though! Rooster looks like he might need a ride."

Rooster chuckled tiredly. "Nah, I'm good. The adrenaline is wearing off, and so is the alcohol," he said, pushing himself off the pillar he'd been leaning against. "I'm going to get some water and snag some of the pizza from Halo. I'll see you two in the morning."

Hands shoved in his pocket, Rooster shuffled off to the bar. Ghost watched him go sadly but said nothing. She simply sighed and turned to Mav. "I'm going to get Bryn, see if she's ready to go."

"If not, I'll be here a little longer. I'll give you a ride back."

"Thanks, Mav. I may take you up on that." Ghost strode off to her friend. The two briefly chatted, and to Maverick's surprise, Ghost returned to him hardly two minutes later, asking, "Is that ride still available?"

"Of course. Come on." After bidding Penny goodbye, along with the other Daggers, Maverick and Ghost left the Hard Deck. She fell asleep on the way there, only stirring when the Jeep came to a stop outside her apartment.

Sleepily, she said, "Thanks for the ride, Maverick. I'll see you in the morning, bright and early."

"See you in the morning, Ghost. Get some sleep, okay?"

"Yes, sir!" she saluted him, then got out of the Jeep, walking a surprisingly straight line, considering how much she'd had to drink. Maverick waited until Ghost entered her building before heading home. Once there, he got dressed for bed and collapsed into the comfy sheets. He stared at the ceiling, mulling over the impending mission and the events of the past few months, namely Charlie, their first meeting in three decades, her passing, and her letter.

From my experience, people write letters when they want to tell someone something difficult or something they can't tell them in person. Penny's words echoed in his head. What did Charlie want to say to him that she couldn't- or wouldn't- tell him in person? The woman who was never afraid to speak her mind?

Maverick had to know. Rolling over, he opened his nightstand drawer, pulled out the envelope, took a deep breath, and opened the letter.

****

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[orime-stories]

What Is Needed

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

(Heavensward Spoilers in Initial Blurb)

-

Aymeric attempts to process everything that happened at the Vault while launching himself straight into the work needed to fix things. With demands on his time and attention (and needs) in conflict, he struggles to settle on where his priorities should lie. Full story below the cut. (1406 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

 -

After Aurelle had left, the space had quickly been filled with Handeloup, with Lucia, with Handeloup again, with various other men under his command. All looking for his leadership as the city scrambled to catch up with all that had happened in the day. Word spreading of his imprisonment and of the Archbishop’s sudden flight. Not in a thousand years had his nation found itself in such systemic, spiritual and emotional disarray. Never before had its current populace experienced such a monumental challenge to their faiths.

The roiling of his own heart, at least, found its rest in the familiar rhythms and routines of work. Gathering perspectives, assessing options. Identifying the points of issue and clarifying the steps required to resolve those issues swiftly and skillfully. Hushing the parts of himself that were not useful in the moment, like the involuntary twinge in his gut when he moved his shoulder too suddenly and memory spasmed through it. Breaking everything down into its constituent parts, eyes clear and unwavering on the course before him. On Ishgard’s survival and the safeguarding of its future.

Not that it hadn’t felt callous to remain firm on that course with Aurelle breaking into pieces before him. Presenting the battered fragments of her grief-rent heart in trembling hands, beseeching him for some measure of comfort on this day when so much had been so cruelly torn from her. He might at least have held to basic manners. Basic condolences and courtesies. Had he not been so afraid that were he to reach forward in comfort, he would have found himself clinging to her for the satisfaction of his own. He could not afford to fall to pieces, now of all times. Could not allow raw grief, personal sentiment, to steer his actions. He was the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights of Ishgard, and the people needed him now more than ever. He would not shirk from that duty. He would not.

The Knights that had not joined Lucia’s brazen rescue avoided his gaze as he moved through the halls, tension between those that had joined the fray and those that had not coiling thick enough around the Congregation to paralyse it entirely. Which is why one of his first orders of business was to draft a quick address for the men, to put that tension to rest lest it jeopardise all else the order would be called to do in the coming days.

“To those who stood by me, who honoured me with your trust and your loyalty during such an unprecedented test of all of our faith; words cannot express my gratitude and my appreciation. To those who did not, I only wish to say that I understand. ‘Tis much easier to believe a Lord Commander fallen to heresy than to believe that the head of our faith—the very heart of our city—could have betrayed us all. Would that the simpler tale were the true one. Would that my imprisonment had meant an end for the turmoil the city now finds itself in. But the turmoil rages on, and we Temple Knights have as our sacred charge to protect the people of this city from that turmoil. The Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon have joined forces once more to put a stop to the Archbishop’s reckless and tyrannical ambitions. And until we hear word of their success, ‘tis up to us to keep the peace in Ishgard. The people’s hearts and minds are in disarray. We must be their stability in this moment. Putting our trust in the heroes that stand with us, that the people might put their trust in us in turn…”

It was not until he was in his bed that night, distraction-less and alone, that worry and doubt returned to eviscerate him in full. To force him to dwell in his father’s cruel dismissal. In the helplessness and the shock…

The imprisonment he had anticipated, along with the possibility of a swift but terrible end. He was not naive to the way Ishgard conducted its justice, after all. But the beatings… He had not anticipated the callous joy that would be taken in them. Nor how easily his father would turn away from his suffering.

As he had pushed for the man to reconsider — pleaded, when it had come to that last fateful encounter on the rooftops — his desperation, his sincerity, the bond they were surely supposed to have shared… even in the face of all that, his father had cast him aside and turned away. Eyes for naught but the wretched path he had so committed himself to.

And then there was Aurelle. Poor, sweet Aurelle. The people she held dearest maimed and struck down before her very eyes. The inadequacy of his response to that surely only sharpening her pain. As he had turned away from her, eyes fixed on his own path.

Realisation pierced through him as a knife to his breast. The two wounds in his heart merging into one as he saw his father’s callous indifference writ plain on his own face, an inheritance that he wanted no part of. The thought that he might have failed Aurelle, might have hurt her so deeply in that same way…

Oh Fury, what had he done?

What had seemed a selflessness, a denying himself of a comfort in order to dedicate himself more fully to the oaths he had sworn, suddenly seemed to be naught but selfishness. A prioritisation of his own needs in weathering the turmoil over hers.

Anguished thoughts snapping in and out of focus, incompatible in their demands of him. That he bury his own pains and remain focused on the people under his care. That he seek out the woman he had come to care so dearly for and beg her forgiveness, offer to shoulder as much of her pain as she would trust him with.

He needed clarity.

And he quickly found it in the framing that had ever been his guide. Returning to the core of the matter that all else hinged on, he removed himself from the equation and asked;

What does Ishgard need, right in this moment?

His father’s madness brought to an end. The Warrior of Light to end it.

Everything rested on that Warrior now. And so it was his duty to do all in his power to see that Warrior succeed. A Warrior who had ever found her strength in the love and support of the people around her.

Cursing his shortcomings these past days, he climbed out of bed and padded his way through to the study, already drafting a letter in his mind.

—

Mistress Aurelle Silmontier,

Warrior of Light and most cherished friend.

I remember sitting down to write you a letter once before, as you prepared to confront the Lady Iceheart on behalf of my people despite our reticence to offer aught in the way of support against your own troubles. I remember the admiration I felt for you then, as I feel that admiration now a thousandfold.

I know that we ask much of you this time. Perhaps too much, in light of all that you have endured in our name. But we cannot hope to stand against this threat without your aid. So ask we must.

Ever have you placed the needs of Eorzea and its peoples before your own, and ever have we cherished you for it. Few could stand firm and squarely face the things you do. Fewer still could maintain your warmth and kind nature throughout such trials. You are a remarkable individual, deserving of all the gratitude and praise you inspire.

I know that I have not made things easy for you, or indeed for either of us, in recent days. And for that I can only apologise, and beg that you permit me the chance to better express myself the next time circumstances allow. The Congregation does not lend itself to undivided attention on my part, and there is much for us to talk about. Much I wish to say, if you would permit me that chance.

With everything that I am, I thank you. For all you have done. For all you are yet to do. For the dinners which have been a source of such brightness amongst these darkest of times.

 I thank you.

 May Halone watch over your journey and see you safely home to us.

 Aymeric

[casdeanwin]

Every time I read this passage my heart takes an emotional journey on the bumpiest rollercoaster. 😭

I can only imagine the turmoil Harry is experiencing. Not only is he grieving the loss of his Headmaster/Mentor and handling the trauma which came from witnessing his death, but Harry is having to deal with how little he actually knew about Dumbledore. And the guilt which stems from that, as well as the anger.

Harry regrets never taking the time to ask his Professor personal questions, that all they ever really discussed was Harry himself. More specifically the part he had to play in this war.

Here is a young man, who has never really known the love of a parental figure since the day his Mother and Father were murdered.

And when he does allow himself to attach to such figures, they are cruelly snatched away.

He is never really given the time or the proper circumstances to deepen those relationships. And with Harry being a child for 99% of the series, those relationships are sort of one sided.

As it should be really.

As a child we are much too young to worry about our parental figures, in terms of finding out who they are, beyond what they are. It's only as we grow older, that we begin to appreciate them as people and their back stories.

I feel this is what Harry is muddling through in his grief.

Throughout DH, he is bombarded with information about Albus Dumbledore, which quite frankly knocks him for six. He finds out information which he really wishes Albus had told him. Like the fact that they had both lived in Godric's Hollow, both lost loved ones there. This is mind blowing for Harry. They could have bonded over this shared history. Perhaps even have visited one day together.

But Dumbledore chose not to reveal that part of himself. And Harry is hurt, because he doesn't understand why. He had always believed that Dumbledore cared for him. Even during OotP, Harry at his core, still believed Albus cared, and that is why he was so hurt and angry throughout his fifth year. He thought that they shared a special sort of bond. And each time Harry thinks they are getting somewhere, he feels as though Dumbledore takes a step back.

I always feel that had Albus not died that night, he would have been 'forced' to reveal some information to Harry. They had after all gone through a traumatic experience together, and bonded further due to it. And I genuinely think that Albus would have wanted to reveal what he had seen thanks to that potion. He would have felt he owed Harry some answers given what he asked of him that night. But more than that, again, I think he would have wanted to tell Harry. Because he does care. But Albus being who he is, constantly has to walk a fine line. He can only connect with Harry to a certain point. Because Harry is after all, first and foremost, his student. And it would be inappropriate to share too much. But I do think, the night he died, was that first stepping stone on what could have been should he have survived.

But this is what I mean, Harry only knows what he experienced. Harry couldn't see inside Dumbledore's head. All he knew was that Dumbledore kept him at arms length, even though he claimed to care.

So when Harry finds out that Dumbledore had a shaded past, in which he revealed his secrets to Gellert, as a young man himself, Harry is incensed, and even outright jealous. Here was a dark wizard who Dumbledore is known for having defeated, who Albus had revealed his inmost self to after knowing for a few months maximum. I imagine Harry must feel cheated in some regard.

After all, Harry had known and looked up to his Headmaster for six years. He had trusted him implicitly, no questions asked. And yet he didn't hardly know anything about him personally. But Gellert bloody Grindelwald had somehow managed to gain the Holy Grail in a matter of months! If Dumbledore could share with Grindelwald, who turned out to be a dark wizard, then what was wrong with Harry? Why didn't Dumbledore want to share with him? Harry must have felt he meant nothing to his mentor. Which we know isn't true. But it must have been traumatising for a grieving 17 year old boy.

It's only after Harry has spoken to Albus in person, and Albus has at last revealed parts of himself to Harry which he is ashamed of, is Harry able to let go of his anger.

Once he sees that Albus wasn't withholding information about himself because he didn't trust Harry, but rather because he didn't want Harry to think less of him, Harry understands that Albus did and does love him.

And Harry is also now able to say that he loves Albus. Not for being the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or the Greatest Sorcerer of the age, but for being Albus. Because he now knows everything there is to know about the man. Albus Dumbledore is no longer on that pedestal Harry had seated him on. He was finally accessible and attainable. And loved.

[missspringthyme]

February 21st, 2024

Didn't do much today (again!) except to agree with T for us to stop texting until our next call. Sometimes we can be very similar, but the difference between us is I change a lot more than him. Lately I've gotten a lot better at managing his periods of high stress/emotional turmoil by basically just saying "ok" instead of pushing him. Maybe it's just teenagehood leaving my body but I haven't been feeling the need to be that dramatic or know everything. Despite this, in general, improving how I communicate with T, I get the feeling he didn't like how nonchalantly I agreed to no texting or that our call might have to be delayed.

On my end, I know the call will happen eventually and I know I'll eventually be less burnt out on texting. T likes a bit more consistency than that though, so it's a bit of a problem.

That night, Spanish neighbor came over for a bit. I cooked dinner and talked to her and authentic Australian, and she brought over some more cheeses and meats for us. We all keep telling her to just ring the doorbell whenever she wants, but she keeps asking if she wants to come over and sit in our living room. 99% of the time me I really enjoy talking with authentic Australian, but then he says some shit that immediately gives me the ick. This happens sometimes when we get into sociological topics a little too much, one wrong step and I could see him falling down an Andrew Tate rabbit hole. When I first moved in I actually liked him the least out of everyone I the apartment for this reason exactly. He's the first to tell you he's been very sheltered and privileged, but lacks the maturity to actually examine what that means.

Anyway, right before things got heated, I was reminded of this guy who makes reels on Instagram meant for people learning Spanish, but they are all about a cockroach. So it's just this older guy talking in Spanish to an animated dancing cockroach saying things like "no cockroach, I won't go out with you. You have a boyfriend." or "No cockroach, don't kill yourself." Stuff like that. I adore him, but I couldn't remember the name of the account so as the conversation moved on my search history was overflowing with variations of 'cockroach Spanish man'. I did eventually find it after I posted it to a subreddit designed to help people find things, and I was so excited. We spent a bit scrolling through the videos while I watched Spanish neighbor go through all the stage of grief hearing the audio.

Very good night.

[mcltitcdes]

Reunion

plotted starter for Ris / @imxthexhandler​

Obi-Wan sighed. It was a deep, heavy sigh that originated in the depths of his soul and it did nothing to alleviate the pain currently gripping his heart. Qui-Gon was dead and now Obi-Wan was overwhelmed with grief and all of the emotions that came with it. 

But he did not have the luxury of taking time out to process his grief as fully as he’d like. The Jedi Council had decided to promote Obi-Wan to the status of Jedi Knight and had agreed, albeit reluctantly, for Obi-Wan to take Anakin Skywalker on as his Padawan, effective immediately. Anakin needed a stable master, someone with the strength and fortitude to guide him as he learned the ways of the Force. Right now, Obi-Wan did not measure up the standards he believed Anakin required. How could he when his entire being was drowning in grief?

Obi-Wan needed to act. He recognised that much. He needed to do something about all of this. But it didn’t feel right to go to the Jedi Council and admit his feelings after only just being promoted. He would’ve turned to Qui-Gon for guidance, steady and true as Qui-Gon ever was, but that was now impossible. There was one other option he could try and at this point, he was ready to try anything.

Following the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan had been granted leave to stay within Naboo’s Royal Palace for as long as he required. He had to head back to Coruscant shortly, taking young Skywalker with him, but Queen Amidala had insisted Obi-Wan stay (perhaps sensing his grief for his fallen master and finding a way to give him time and space to grieve away from the Jedi Temple and the crowded planet of Coruscant). Obi-Wan believed an old and dear friend was also at the Royal Palace: Ris Daibhéid.

Ris and Obi-Wan had been Padawans together and had formed a strong bond of friendship over their years of study and work under their respective masters. When Ris decided the path of the Jedi was not hers to follow, Obi-Wan understood her decision and supported her leaving the Order. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t miss her once she left. There were often times when Obi-Wan was spending long nights in the Jedi Archives and he would reminisce about those nights when Ris had with him, making the long nights not feel so lonely or dull. 

Missing her was a sign of his love for her but he didn’t wish for things to be different. When he missed her, he didn’t wish for her to return to the Order because that wasn’t her choice. She knew what was best for her and had made her decisions based on that. Obi-Wan was content to effectively let her go, knowing if the Force willed them to be together again, it would let it happen.

Ris had returned to her native Naboo when she left the Order and Obi-Wan was certain she worked and lived within the Royal Palace. And it was her who he sought out now. If anyone was going to understand or at least empathise with him now, it was Ris. 

After checking in on Anakin and making sure the young boy was settled and occupied with some light studying, Obi-Wan went in search of Ris. He used the Force to guide him as he wound through the maze of hallways and corridors that stretched through the various buildings that made up the Palace. He eventually found her in the Palace Gardens and his heart clenched at the sight of her. She hadn’t noticed him yet and so he was granted a moment to take a breath and prepare to meet her again, knowing she would be able to sense the turmoil he contained within. There was no point in hiding his feelings from her so he made no effort to try. She could read him like an open book and he did not fear her judgement or opinion of him as a result.

He straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back, and approached her with a sad smile on his face. Obi-Wan’s spirits did want to lift up after seeing her again, especially after all the time that had passed since they’d last been together, but the circumstances of their reunion were so dire. “Ris,” he called out her name to attract her attention. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.” He meant it, with every fibre of his being. 

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

The Time Traveling Cabinet

So! Time travel AUs are fun. But what if, instead of sending back Tommy and Wilbur, we try something new for a change?

Concept: Time Travel AU, but the people getting sent back in time are the New L’Manberg Butcher Army.

Ranboo, Fundy, Quackity, and Tubbo are all scattered into the past on December 16th, and it only gets More from there.

Beginning

- Somehow, the New L’Manberg cabinet are all sent into the past at different points of the events of December 16th.

- Ranboo is sent back during the fight in front of Technoblade’s house.

- Fundy is sent back once Punz starts attacking the execution.

- Quackity is sent back a millisecond before Techno’s pickaxe hits his face.

- And Tubbo is sent back right after seeing the pillar and thinking that Tommy is dead.

Ranboo

- Ranboo gets sent back to about a week before Tommy joined.

- He is, understandably, confused.  But he mostly just vibes, leaving cryptic messages, building stuff, and exploring. It's nice to get a break from executions and warring and the messy life in the present day.

- He befriends Tommy again, and they burn down George's house again. This time, Dream barely cares. He doesn't need a reason to hurt Tommy yet.  

- Ranboo also gets to meet his best friend and future husband again!

- Tubbo's a lot less guarded, more willing to speak his mind, doesn't have firework scars on his face and arms. Tommy's still a gremlin, but he's a gremlin with dreams and schemes.  Ranboo doesn't know what to think about this.

- He doesn't get involved in the L'Manberg Revolution or any of the big conflicts, saying something about "preserving the timeline".

- He can’t change anything important anyway. According to the message anonymously whispered to him in chat every time he was stopped from changing something, multiverse creation is disabled until the arrival of all parties.

- Ranboo doesn't feel that bad about it. He isn't in the mood to create paradoxes, and there's nothing during the revolutionary time that he'd really change.

- Except.

- Didn’t Eret do some kind of betrayal thing?

- Ranboo can't recall what they did. Probably just switched sides, and people got mad about it, as people attached to sides often do.

- Then, on August 2nd, he hears explosions.  Against his better judgment, Ranboo sneaks over to L'Manberg to see if Tubbo and Tommy are okay.

- They aren’t.

- Yep, the country has been blown up, and to make things worse Eret leads the L'Manbergians into a death trap that takes more canon lives than anything else in SMP history.  Ranboo's legitimately horrified.

- He sticks around for the peace era and helps rebuild, maybe works at the embassy a little. Mr. Boo is not allowed to be a L'Manberg citizen due to being American, but he remains on good terms with the country.

- Basically, Ranboo learns the true history of this "just a drug van" country, and what it actually stands for.

- He's ready to wait it out until December, so he can get back to the present day with no complications.  One problem: He isn't alone anymore.

Fundy

- Fundy arrives to the Pet War confused as can be.

- He's pretty sure he's dreaming. That's the only explanation for him being in one of the worst times of his life again and Ranboo being there too for some reason.

- So, he tries to stop some of the pet murder, to varying success. He can't kill Sapnap during the duel or save Fungi, but he can save some of the chickens and Leonard the enderman and such.

- Leonard is his emotional support monster. He’s going to need one.

- Next, Fundy finds and yells at a bewildered Wilbur.

- Wilbur isn't allowed to hear the whole rant, but he does get 1) He screwed up as a father, 2) He's probably dead?? This does not help his paranoia and self-loathing.

- Fundy also gets to chat with his younger self, who according to one Ghostbur Soot was 14 at the time of the election? I don’t know, fox/phoenix/trickster demigod aging is weird.

- The conversation goes along the lines of:

“Do they ever start taking us seriously?”

“...Yes. Definitely. Sure.”

- Finally, Fundy tells a heap of lies about what he's like in the future to look cool.

- He’s generally is a fan of this situation because time traveling from the future means one thing: Attention. And it has been a while since he's gotten any of that.

- (Ranboo tries to stop him from messing with the past. He's only sometimes successful, and gets roped into Coconut 2020)

- In summary, Fundy clings to his moment in the spotlight, tries and fails to get closure with his dad, and gets to observe the unraveling ball of angst and issues that was his teenage self.

Quackity

- Quackity is sent back to the day of the election.

- He has to see his naive younger self screw up history and plan a spring wedding with Schlatt. It's awful.

- After trying and failing to assassinate the drunken dictator during his speech, and getting the memo about not being able to change the past in big ways, Q runs over to spawn to wait for Wilbur.

- Wilbur shows up after dying to Punz, and Quackity helps him get to Pogtopia for the first time. 

- There, Quackity chats with him and Tommy. He explains as much as he knows (which isn't much), and offers to join the rebellion.

- Wilbur doesn't trust him for five seconds. Honestly, Q's still wearing the Butcher Army uniform. He’s covered in blood!

- So, Quackity is sent out into the night in an offhand "don't call us, we'll call you" way. On the way out, he tries and fails to murder Technoblade. He's got a hit list, and he's going to complete it.

- Meanwhile, Past Quackity does not get along with Future Quackity at all.

- Past Quackity was a neutral good idealist. Future Quackity is a machiavellian, chaotic neutral guy with a murder list. They despise each other.

-Quackity tries to settle things with Schlatt. Not sure how well it works, but he does try.

- He also maps out complex strategies for how to change the future once all members have arrived. He's got Plans.

- Ranboo is very opposed to these Plans. Fundy is mostly onboard with these plans.

-Finally, Quackity desperately hopes that the last member of the party will arrive before the festival. Maybe, just maybe, he can do something to stop the execution.

-Unfortunately, the festival arrives, and Past Tubbo gives his speech, and Technoblade is given the order.

-The execution goes according to plan.

-Then, in the wreckage of the Red Festival, a figure appears.

Tubbo

- Tubbo has been having an awful day.

- First, he fails to execute Technoblade. Then, he finds out that he killed his best friend Tommy is gone. And now he’s standing smack-dab in the middle of the worst thing that ever happened to him?

- It’s all way too much. Tubbo runs away.

- Tubbo disappears for a solid week before finally accepting that he isn't just imagining all of this as a weird stage of grief.

- He then returns to Pogtopia in a suitably dramatic moment.

- Despite the fact that they're all in the past, Tubbo's probably going to end up as the character who gets the most focus. He's having the most Emotions about all of this.

- He's got to deal with his coping mechanisms (Ignore and Avoid) being taken away because he's back in the place he tries to forget.

- On top of that, he has to deal with the fact that he feels guilty about Tommy's death, but can't even process that because Tommy's technically still alive in the past (and in the future, but Tubbo doesn't know that).

- And he has to deal with seeing Wilbur again, and figuring out why Wilbur made him president.

-He’s going to go through a lot.

Character Motives

- Ranboo: Preserving the timeline so they can get home vs. Wanting to keep his friends safe and caring about L'Manberg now.

- Fundy: Fixing things for his past self, and getting closure with his dad.

- Quackity: Completing his hit list and completely changing the timeline. And punching Schlatt in the face.

- Tubbo: Dealing with the various emotional turmoils listed above, getting Tommy and his past self to run away from it all.

- Past Tommy: Finding out what the actual fuck is going on, and protecting the Tubbos (Tubbi?). Also, he wants to know what happened to upset Future Tubbo so much. (His regular Pogtopia motives are also there).

- Past Fundy: Measuring up to how great his future self said their life was.

- Past Quackity: Not becoming his future self at any cost.

- Past Tubbo: Regular Pogtopia motivations, but now he has both Tommy and Ranboo to worry about.

- Past Wilbur: Wilbur already believed that he had a scripted role, and was always going to end up the villain. Well, now he has confirmation of just that. Awesome!

He actually goes through with it. He actually blows it up. He doesn't know if he's proud, disgusted, terrified, or what, but he knows that it's not up to him to go against fate.

And if fate demands a grand finale and a little trinitrotoluene on the side? He can do that.